Obscura Nox Animae
by LadyHeatherlly
Summary: The entire Wizarding world believes Lily Potter was murdered by Voldemort on that fateful night in 1981, including the man who would've given his immortal soul to save her. But there's another side to the legend of Lily's sacrifice... ancient charms and secret truths that may very well have the power to change everything.
1. The Sacrifice

**Introductory Notes:** I wanted to write Severus/Lily, but I didn't want to do time travel, reincarnation, or "James and Lily never marry so Harry never exists" as my premise. These concepts have already been written beautifully by other authors within the fandom, so I wanted to see if I could come up with something a little different.

I love Severus the professor - an embittered and remorseful man who has been shaped by the consequences of his actions and struggles to make amends for them somehow, regardless of how much he suffers in the process. That's the Severus I've chosen to write about... a man who believes he's lost everything, assuming he has nothing to live for beyond fulfilling his vow.

This story is rated M for profanity and (eventual) sexuality. It will contain elements of both book and movie canon, though will adhere more faithfully to the first.

**Obscura Nox Animae**: (Latin) _The Dark Night of the Soul_

Credit goes to **laventadorn** for a foul mouthed Severus, as her brilliant stories have earned that quirk a permanent place in my Snape headcanon.

* * *

**The Sacrifice**

In the aftermath, Lily would often wonder why Voldemort had given her the chance to save herself, not just once, but three times. The most logical assumption was that he'd simply been amusing himself before delivering the killing blow, knowing she'd never step aside and leave her baby undefended.

... but if that had been the case, she wouldn't have survived at all.

Why spare _her_, someone who openly despised everything he stood for? What would inspire him to preserve the life of a woman he couldn't have seen as anything other than a filthy Mudblood, with nothing to distinguish her from countless others who'd already been ruthlessly slaughtered at his behest?

Why would _Voldemort_, a remorseless monster who obviously didn't shrink from the idea of killing a helpless baby show mercy to _anyone_, especially when there couldn't possibly be any benefit for him in doing so?

Of course, none of these questions crossed Lily's mind on the night he came to murder her child. There was only room for hysterical pleas, words she would never recall after they'd been spoken, and a scattered internal monologue of, _Please no, not Harry... I can't bear it... Not my baby.._.

"Stand aside, you silly girl. Stand aside, now."

Yes, she'd remember _his_ words in all the years to come, along with the detached and altogether irrelevant observation that for a man so filled with hatred, the insult he'd tossed in her direction was surprisingly mild. And she'd never forget how absurd it was that she'd had such a calm, logical thought in the midst of absolute terror to begin with.

When Voldemort raised his wand, some strange emotion flickered behind his pitiless eyes. It wasn't hesitation, exactly; Lily would be haunted by that look for years before eventually identifying it as... _speculative_. He muttered something indistinguishable to himself, just before the world shattered upon a high-pitched scream of, "_Avada Kedavra_!"

Pain, pain... pain that was more than pain, a terrible severing that seemed to turn her inside out and tear her limb from limb at the same time. She wanted to scream, but she didn't have a mouth anymore. If she'd still had fingers, she would've clawed at the source of her agony, though whether to rip it to pieces or in a desperate attempt to hold the fragments together, she didn't know. All that existed was that piercing, burning green light which devoured everything she'd ever felt and been and known, though it made little sense that her mind would be able to distinguish the color, since she no longer had eyes to see.

It might have lasted for no more than a few seconds, or the span of an entire lifetime for all Lily knew; there seemed to be no beginning or end to the terrible interim where no reality existed beyond her own suffering.

But then it was over. She was tipped over into blackness, reveling in the blissful absence of light and stimulation as she floated along weightlessly on a velvety cloud of nothing.

Before she could get used to the sensation, however, she was solid again. Yes, that was the texture of grass beneath her feet. She had feet... yes, and a head and body, and a nose that picked up on the familiar odors of a fragrant autumn night. And ears... not only was she able to hear the sounds around her - the faint noise of a Muggle siren, the soft crunching of leaves somewhere out of sight - but her auditory capabilities were much more acute than they'd ever been in the past.

Slowly, she opened her eyes.

Sirius had tricked James into consuming a shrinking potion once; after a hasty trip to St. Mungo's, her fiancé had laughingly remarked upon the oddity of seeing everything at an exaggerated size - a teacup he could've slept in, an apple that had towered over his diminutive figure. Lily suddenly understood the surreal experience he'd been attempting to describe, as the first sight that met her bewildered gaze was that of a forest of grass that seemed as tall as she was.

Had she been hit with a shrinking hex? But why would Voldemort...?

_Voldemort_... then it all came back to her. Voldemort. **Harry**. _Oh no... please, no._

But then a cry sounded in the darkness, an achingly familiar wail which came from some great distance above. Lily's throat tightened as she turned and rushed toward the source of the noise, no longer caring about her unusual size or the unexpected obstacles she had to dodge in order to get there- fallen branches the size of trees, a pile of leaves that seemed more like a mountain. All she knew was that she had to reach her baby.

The man nearly stepped on her as he strode past, and with a squeak of surprise, Lily dodged out of the way. She recognized him by scent even before she looked up, a unique odor of dusty old books and pungent herbs, and...

"_Severus_?"

But when she spoke, the sound only emerged as another tiny squeak. Well, there was no time to worry about that now. Severus... what was _Severus_ doing here?

No. No, it couldn't be. But what other answer was there?

Severus was a Death Eater. He'd clearly come to finish what his master had started.

Lily jumped forward and latched onto the top of his impossibly large boot as he pushed the door open and stepped inside the shattered remnants of what had until recently been her home. Oh Merlin, she had to stop him before it was too late, but _how_? She was no more than a few inches tall, couldn't reach her wand even if she'd had the ability to wield it, and it seemed even ordinary speech was beyond her power.

Fretting helplessly, she allowed the man who'd once been her dearest friend to transport her up the stairs, swallowing hard as they came to a halt upon reaching the place where James had been struck down.

J_ames, my poor James..._ she cringed as Severus knelt beside her husband's lifeless form, anticipating some form of the cruel humiliation it was rumored the Death Eaters often inflicted upon their fallen victims. But Severus only briefly pressed his fingers to James' neck to check for a pulse, then rose and stepped away with the body left undisturbed.

Severus moved more slowly now as he approached the bedroom, his harsh, uneven breathing practically roaring in her highly attuned ears. The door lay slightly ajar, faint yellow light spilling forth to mark the path he followed with a curious sense of hesitance. A soft snuffling noise broke the eerie stillness as they approached, followed by a tiny, bewildered sob.

Harry.

_Severus, please don't hurt him!_ her mind screamed in anguished terror. _Please, he's just a baby! Don't..._

"Lily?" he called softly.

Lily had spent the last few years of her life disassociating the boy she'd known from the sullen youth who'd grown up to become a formidable Death Eater. Severus... _her_ Severus, had died at the very same moment he'd opened his mouth and spat the word, "Mudblood," in her direction, for with those two syllables, she'd known she'd lost him forever.

After that, it had been natural, necessary even, to imagine him as a stranger. How could any part of _her_ Severus - awkward and shy, yet eager to please and unfailingly kind in his own quiet way - survive within the body of a person who'd chosen to devote himself to a lifetime of hatred and relentless cruelty?

But it was the little boy she heard as Severus the Death Eater whispered her name in the darkness, frightened and vulnerable, and then brokenly human as he unleashed an anguished howl upon entering the bedroom. She felt the strength drain from his body as he slumped against the wall, oblivious to her presence as she was flung across the room with the sheer force of his collapse.

_Her_ presence? No... _Lily Potter_ was sprawled out on the floor like some macabre caricature of an oversized doll, her delicate features permanently frozen in terror as she stared out at the world through sightless eyes.

"No... no, Lily... oh _fuck_..."

Lily scampered away from the horrific sight of her own lifeless corpse, even as Severus let out a ragged groan and dragged himself across the room on hands and knees to reach it.

She watched in confusion as he lifted her off the floor... not Lily as she was now, but as she'd once been, his thin body heaving with violent sobs as he clutched her tightly to his chest and buried his face in her thick red hair.

"No, Lily, no... I'm sorry. Oh fuck, I'm so sorry. I'm s..."

She heard it before Severus did, the low creak of the front door being pulled open. It wasn't until heavy footfalls landed on the stairs that his head jerked up in alarm, his features twisted almost beyond recognition by a harrowing combination of fury, grief, bewilderment, and remorse. He looked half mad - no, _completely_ mad as he aimed a muttered string of obscenities in the general direction of whoever had just reached the top of the stairs.

But when he lowered his face once more to the body in his arms, _her_ body, his expression changed again; all that was left was sorrow. With two trembling fingers, he reached out and closed her eyes, placing a kiss on each lid and then one on her forehead before laying her gently on the floor again.

And then he rose to his feet, still visibly shaking, and Apparated away.


	2. The Arrangements

**The Arrangements**

Harry was hungry. Couldn't they tell by the sound of his cries?

_Of course not,_ Lily reminded herself as the baby continued to scream. James had never known the difference either, relying on trial and error rather than subtle changes in pitch to determine whether Harry needed something to eat or a dry diaper, whether he was tired or uncomfortable, or simply needed a little affection. Things that were instinctive to a mother remained a mystery to the rest of the world.

She looked on helplessly as Hagrid clutched Sirius to his massive chest with one arm and cradled Harry with the other, murmuring comfort to each of them in turn. At least, that's what he seemed to be doing; whatever he was saying wasn't distinguishable above the sound of Harry's angry yells and Sirius' ragged sobs.

"Poor little thing," Sirius managed to choke out. "He's terrified."

_No he's not,_ Lily protested inwardly as she shook her tiny head in frustration. _I'm sure he's confused, but more than anything, he just wants something to eat. He's far too young to understand what's happened... that his parents have just been murdered._

But that wasn't entirely true, was it? Had Lily herself been killed? She'd witnessed her own lifeless body, now an unnerving mass in the corner, having been carefully covered with an old quilt. And yet she felt every bit as alive as she had before Voldemort had pointed his wand in her direction.

Now she had no idea what she was, or what she was supposed to do about it. She still felt like Lily, yet everything was twenty times the size it had been before, and she seemed to have lost the ability to speak.

Was this the afterlife, perhaps, some strange reality where the deceased watched life move on without them from some tiny, unnoticed vantage point? But if that were the case, why did she still breathe? Why could she feel the faint stirrings of hunger deep in her belly? And why did she suffer an ache so profound that it couldn't have been described as anything less than physical pain when Harry cried for her?

Hagrid released Sirius long enough to scrub at his eyes with a tablecloth sized handkerchief. "Wanted 'im dead as much as anyone, just... just not like this."

Lily frowned in consternation until she realized Hagrid was speaking of Voldemort, not herself and James. And then she realized that somehow, she'd already known the evil Wizard was gone. Severus, Hagrid, Sirius... there'd been no sense of urgency in their actions, no trace of the fear which had hung over the Wizarding world for as long as she could remember. There was only grief and a strange sort of emptiness here in the aftermath; it could've almost been described as peaceful if it hadn't been so heavily laced with sorrow.

Harry let out another demanding cry, and Sirius reached for him with a sad smile. "I suppose it's for me to care for him now. I'm his godfather, after all. I just wish... well, don't worry, Hagrid. He'll want for nothing as long as he's with me."

"Erm," Hagrid paused, shifting uncomfortably as he hesitated to release the baby. "Have no doubt yeh'd do right by 'im. No question of that. But Dumbledore... he's wantin' me ter take little Harry ter his aunt and uncle. Arrangements already been made."

Sirius nodded and immediately dropped his hands, appearing slightly relieved as the baby continued to sob. Lily couldn't fault him for the reaction; she knew it wasn't motivated by him not wanting Harry, merely the fact that he was still a young bachelor who probably didn't the first idea how to care for a small child.

Still... _Petunia and Vernon_? Unable to help herself, Lily let out a loud squeak of dismay.

Hagrid frowned. "There a mouse in here?"

"What does it matter?" Sirius said dejectedly. "This place is no longer fit for anyone to live in anyway, even if they could stomach it after..."

"Right. Best be goin' now. They'll be expectin' us."

"How are you getting there?"

"I... ah, hadn't thought of that."

Sirius sighed and buried his fingers in his dark hair. "Take my bike."

"Y...yer sure?"

"Take it," Sirius repeated more firmly. "I won't be needing it where I'm going."

The two men shared a final embrace, but Lily was no longer paying attention as they exchanged their farewells. She was too busy searching frantically for a way to be carried along on the trip to Petunia's, terrified by the thought of being separated from her son. Clinging to the top of Hagrid's boot as she'd done with Severus wouldn't be feasible; she'd never have the strength to hold on while soaring through the air at breathtaking speeds, especially if Hagrid operated the contraption the way Sirius had always done. She'd be flung to her death almost instantly.

... well, her _second_ death. Oh, this was so confusing.

Lily scampered forward and latched onto the hem of Hagrid's heavy coat; the height she was trying to reach seemed impossible, but for some reason, she found herself able to scramble upwards with surprising ease, slipping into one of Hagrid's pockets just as he bid Sirius a tearful goodbye and turned to leave the room. Something slimy moved against her in the dark pouch of fabric but she ignored it, utterly fixated on the fact that she was now mere inches away from her son.

_Harry_... he smelled like baby powder and mild shampoo, sweetness and the clean odor of rice cereal. She breathed it in hungrily, wishing to drown herself in the most comfortingly familiar experience her senses had known since Voldemort had stormed into her home and shattered their lives.

When the bike roared to life and lifted into the air, Harry's cries subsided. Secure in his little basket, he began to make soft, happy noises as they soared through the sky, forgetting all about his discomfort as he marveled over the new experience. Lily couldn't help smiling; it was the same reaction he'd had when Sirius had sent him a toy broom for his first birthday. She idly wondered if he'd grow up to have a natural talent for Quidditch like his father did, though what seemed like the first normal thought she'd had for hours was immediately disrupted by the reminder that James was dead.

Attempting to process the events of the night was deeply painful now that Lily's initial shock was beginning to wear off... so painful that she was tempted to push it away and lose herself in the sound of Harry's quiet laughter. But she wasn't a Gryffindor for nothing; no matter how much it hurt, she'd face it with all the bravery she could muster, turning it over and over in her mind until she could make sense of it all.

Okay, Voldemort had discovered their hiding place- that was the first mystery.  
Had he come to suspect Peter of knowing their whereabouts for some reason? Yes, there was no other plausible explanation; he must have forced the information out of their friend somehow, because it was incomprehensible that Peter would've volunteered it willingly.

Lily cringed as she imagined what unspeakable tortures the timid young man must have endured in the process. Poor Peter... it took her a moment to control her remorse at inadvertently being responsible for such suffering before she could move on to the events which had followed the revelation.

Voldemort gaining access to the house would have been simple enough once the Fidelus charm had been broken, and it made perfect sense that he would've finished James without a second thought. It was what had happened once he'd reached the bedroom that left Lily utterly bewildered.

She'd heard Voldemort murmuring some other spell just before he'd delivered the Killing Curse... what had it been? How had she escaped death, why had he obviously chosen to let that happen?

More importantly, how had Harry managed to survive when he'd been the real target all along? What could have possibly lead to Voldemort's death in that little bedroom alone with an injured woman and a defenseless baby? What had happened to put an end to the most powerful dark Wizard of all time, whom they'd all assumed was more or less invincible?

And afterwards, why had Severus...?

But there was no time to finish the thought as the bike hit the ground with a sudden jolt that made her teeth rattle in her mouth.

Lily's heart filled with hope as Hagrid was almost immediately was joined by two other speakers, the familiar, comforting tones of a Witch and Wizard she trusted implicitly. Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall... oh, thank Merlin. She'd be thrilled to have either of them to watch over her son if it wasn't possible to do so herself.

Unfortunately, just as her imagination conjured up visions of her little boy growing up within the sanctuary of Hogwarts, cherished and protected by those who'd treat him with the same loving kindness they'd always shown her, her hopes were abruptly destroyed.

Dumbledore gently commanded Hagrid to relinquish Harry as the larger man sobbed and blubbered a heartfelt goodbye to the baby he'd only known for a few short hours. Sweet Hagrid... Lily didn't think she'd ever known anyone who was more softhearted, for all that he might look ferocious on the outside.

Why had the Headmaster decided that the best course of action was to leave the infant behind? Lily could understand it on the most obvious level, of course. Petunia was her sister, and it was natural that the guardianship of an orphaned child would automatically pass to a blood relative. But why leave him with people who were basically strangers, with no ties to the world which Harry would grow up to be a part of? Did Dumbledore know anything about her relationship with Petunia - namely, the fact that they hadn't so much as spoken in years? It seemed unlike him not to thoroughly investigate all possible options before making such a huge decision.

But there was no time to speculate any further. It was happening whether Lily liked it or not, and if she didn't act quickly, she once again ran the risk of becoming separated from her child.

She scrambled out of Hagrid's pocket, no longer caring if anyone saw her as she climbed upward and slipped into the basket with Harry. As it turned out, it was surprisingly easy to burrow underneath the blankets without notice; the Wizards were too busy mumbling about celebrations or some other nonsense to take any notice.

Before Lily knew it, she and Harry had been left alone in the darkness on what appeared to be Petunia and Vernon's front porch. The baby slept peacefully as she waited out the night, listening to his soft, even breathing while dreading what the morning might bring.


	3. The Worst

**The Worst**

Severus was overwhelmed by hatred for the Dark Lord following Lily's death, though the cause of his altogether useless fury was quite different than he would've expected. Granted, he despised the vile bastard for murdering the only person he'd ever given a damn about, but that came second to his reaction upon learning that Voldemort had somehow managed to end his own life in the process of destroying hers.

Unbelievable.

He'd honestly thought he'd been prepared for the worst when he'd crossed the threshold of the Potters' shattered home; unfortunately, none of the nightmarish scenarios his frantic mind had conjured up in those excruciating moments before discovering Lily's lifeless body had included the possibility of the most powerful Dark Wizard of all time having keeled over like a Muggle with a gunshot wound.

Seriously... what the fuck?

No doubt Dumbledore would have a logical explanation, but what did it matter? The point was that in dying at such an inconvenient moment, Voldemort had effectively condemned Severus to live with what had happened - nights beyond counting filled with anguish and remorse, overlaid with the unbearable hollowness which came from knowing he only had himself to blame for the fact that Lily was beyond his reach forever.

Fuck, it could've been so easy. Had he arrived in Godric's Hollow to find his former master reveling in the aftermath, disgustingly smug in his triumph, Severus would've attempted to curse the loathsome piece of shit into oblivion, hurling himself at certain death like the most foolhardy Gryffindor would've done. There would've been no rational thought in his brain, no careful calculation of risk versus reward, only the instinctive and utterly savage need for vengeance.

Voldemort would've naturally responded by swatting him down like a fly, and what a sweet relief that would've been. No chance to dwell upon the enormity of what he'd lost, no need to suffer through the agony of pondering a hundred things he could've done differently, things that might have saved Lily's precious life if he'd acted like even slightly less of a fucking idiot. Severus would've died right along with her, the way he'd subconsciously been planning to do all along if the worst should happen.

_The worst?_ he let out a hollow chuckle before tipping his head back, draining the last remnants of another bottle of cheap Muggle whiskey. _What a stupid shit I was, believing I had the faintest clue what "the worst" actually meant._

He'd thought he'd faced the worst any number of times in the past, only for life to find yet another way to kick him in the teeth. The worst had been watching Lily as she was sorted into Gryffindor instead of Slytherin, utterly dejected by the idea of the additional separation that would come from them belonging to separate Houses.

And then he'd believed there couldn't be anything more painful than the growing distance between them, the terrible rows they'd had, Lily's open disapproval of the few friends he'd actually managed to make at Hogwarts. No, nothing had been worse than that... at least until he'd spat the word _Mudblood_ at her in a moment of humiliated fury, driving her away forever.

_Forever..._ yes, it had _seemed_ like forever at the time, totally irreparable after his numerous apologies had come to nothing. It had appeared she was gone for good when she'd taken up with the Marauders, having had the audacity to begin dating James Potter of all people.

What could've been worse than Lily falling in love with his mortal enemy? Severus remembered feeling as if he'd hit rock bottom on that terrible day he'd walked down to the lake, stopping dead in his tracks when his eyes had fallen upon the couple shamelessly making out beneath a tree as Black and Lupin sprawled lazily on the grass nearby. Frozen in shock, his mind had screamed in anguish, begging his feet to move even as Sirius had raised his dark eyes and given him a knowing smirk.

Sirius had eventually paid for that insult by being the recipient of a nasty hex, but at the time, it had been all Severus could do to make it a few yards into the Forbidden Forest, falling to his knees and vomiting all over the foliage while hot, salty tears had streamed down his face. _That_ had definitely felt like the worst moment of his life, spilling the contents of his stomach in what had seemed like hours of uncontrollable retching because he couldn't manage the far preferable option of emptying his mind of the sickening image of Lily happily kissing _James Fucking Potter._

Jerked back to the present by a sudden wave of nausea, Severus grasped for the closest sturdy object and attempted to push himself to his feet. The dank little room swayed around him for a dizzying moment before he fell, taking the full impact on one sharp elbow and shattering one of the empty bottles which littered the floor around him.

_"Fuck!"_

It was a testament to his level of intoxication, or perhaps to the extreme degree to which he longer gave a fuck, that his mind didn't even register the pain as he stared dispassionately at the bloody mess which had been his left arm. His black eyes were dull with grief as they followed a thin trickle of blood, colorless lips twitching slightly in a humorless smile as the crimson droplets spilled across the Dark Mark.

_Appropriate_, he reflected bitterly... and then his thin shoulders hunched forward as he suddenly vomited.

* * *

Severus found himself lying on the threadbare couch when he awoke, with no idea how he'd gotten there. Raising his head a few inches, he let out an agonized groan as the awful events of the previous night came rushing back to him, accompanied by a splitting headache. Oh god, he hated it... the piercing sunlight pouring through a gap in the curtains, the sickening stench of the filthy room. He hated the ugly cushions beneath him, dark and stiff with his own dried blood. He hated Spinner's End and England as a whole, and the entire fucking world, come to think of it.

Most of all, he hated himself.

He didn't know why he bothered to rise, nor what made him stumble up the stairs and strip away his clothing before stepping under the steam of a hot shower which he hated slightly less than he hated anything else. Why did he pause to repair his shattered elbow, or to heal the numerous cuts on his arms and legs? Perhaps it was one of those things that didn't need a reason, or maybe it could be credited to that annoying human instinct to help the body fight for survival, long after the spirit had thrown its hands up in surrender.

But clearing the broken glass off the floor? What was the point of this shit?

Severus was through with life, with love and hope and hatred and misery and everything in between. Why couldn't he just end it then? He could think of 20 different ways to get the job done, none of which required having to leave the house. Why was he pulling on a clean robe, rather than using it to fashion a sturdy noose for himself? What was the point in putting a spoonful of sugar in the strong black coffee he mindlessly brewed, instead of lacing with one of the numerous poisons he kept stored in the basement?

_Because I don't want to end like this._

The errant thought both surprised and infuriated him. _Why the fuck not?_ a much louder voice inside him demanded. _Lily's dead, and it's your fault! What's left for you now? There's no one in the world who gives a shit about you anymore, or vice versa. Dumbledore will have no further use for you now that the war is finished; you'll probably return to Hogwarts to learn that you've been sacked. You don't want to end like this? Bloody hell, Severus, it's already over! Why not put yourself out of your misery already, you despicable fool?_

But the faint whisper persisted, soft and plaintive as it countered his overwhelming despair.

_Because I'm not a coward._

And with that, the louder voice was silenced.

* * *

Severus was relieved he still had the ability to Occlude as he sat across from Lucius in the stately drawing room of Malfoy Manor, calmly sipping from a glass of fine bourbon as if he _wasn't_ on the brink of falling apart all over again. The rich golden liquid bore no resemblance to the cheap rotgut he'd drowned himself in after leaving Godric's Hollow, but that was no surprise. This had never been his world - pure-bloods and their fancy trappings, ancient traditions and carefully cultivated sophistication. He might've developed a bit of polish over the years, but that had been out of necessity. not because he felt he had any legitimate claim to this sort of existence.

"I still can't believe it," Lucius said quietly, running a hand across his stubbled jaw. "He was supposed to be invincible. How could he have fallen so easily, at the hands of a child, no less? It doesn't make any sense."

Severus considered the question at last, having been too devastated - too _drunk_ - to give the matter any serious thought the night before. Sobriety and a reasonably clear head weren't doing him much good in solving the mystery, however. He shrugged.

"You know they're all out there celebrating, don't you? All those Mudbloods and blood traitors. They're calling him "The Boy Who Lived" - the Potter child, I mean. I nipped down to Diagon Alley earlier for supplies, and there was a whole group of them running around with lightning shaped scars painted on their foreheads. They're declaring it a national holiday in the Wizarding world. Ignorant fools, the whole lot of them."

"Did you encounter any trouble?"

Lucius shook his head. "They were too caught up in their revelry to notice anything else. It's only a matter of time though; you know that as well as I do."

"Yes."

"What will you do, Severus?"

He sighed, absently tucking a lock of lank black hair behind his ear as he responded. "I haven't really thought about it. I suppose if I don't end up in Azkaban, I'll return to my post at Hogwarts. Well, if Dumbledore doesn't sack me, anyway. Yourself?"

Lucius nodded thoughtfully. "It only makes sense to continue on in the task the Dark Lord set for you. You know, you're quite lucky, Severus. You're in a better position than any of us to claim loyalty with the other side and do so convincingly. I envy you that."

Severus bit back an incredulous laugh. _Lucky?_ Of all the colorful descriptions he'd applied to himself over the years, _luck_ had never even remotely crossed his mind. And after what had happened to Lily? The idea was downright ludicrous.

"To answer your question, I intend to do what I must to remain out of prison," Lucius continued, glancing up at him a little nervously. "I have a family to think about. And anyway, if the Dark Lord returns..."

"The Dark Lord is dead."

"Do you really believe that?"

Severus paused as an unpleasant shiver skittered up his spine. "I don't know what I believe," he said carefully. "But I know that the Killing Curse rebounded on him, destroying half a house in the process. I know there's been no sign of him since, and the boy still lives. Do you really think...?"

"Well, yes, obviously _something_ happened to him. But the Dark Lord has powers the rest of us can't even begin to comprehend. Some of the things he's said... well, I don't know if it's as simple as it seems."

"I'll have to speak with Dumbledore about it when I return to Hogwarts. I imagine he has his own theories, one of which may even be the truth."

Lucius didn't bother to suppress a disdainful snort. "Dumbledore... he must be over the moon right about now, the batty old fool."

Severus let that pass; ordinarily, he might've taken it upon himself to point out Dumbledore's vast wealth of knowledge, or perhaps mention that even Voldemort himself had treated the powerful Wizard with caution and grudging respect. But in light of the fact that Dumbledore had catastrophically failed to keep his word, Severus wasn't exactly in the mood to speak out in defense of his capabilities.

That was the unspoken question which haunted him - not what had befallen the Dark Lord, or how the youngest Potter had managed to survive the attempted murder. No, what Severus wanted to know was _why the fuck it had happened in the first place._ He had no doubt Dumbledore was a worthy match for Voldemort, which was why he'd risked so much to plead for his help when he'd learned Lily was in danger. Had the old Headmaster simply been careless... or worse, that he knowingly allowed the tragedy to happen for reasons Severus couldn't begin to understand?

The hour was late when he finally bade goodnight to the Malfoys and Apparated back to Spinner's End. It was the last place in the world he wanted to go, but then again, he didn't particularly want to be anywhere else either. All he knew was that he needed solitude... a little more time to grieve in private before necessity demanded he return to the world of living and somehow pick up the pieces of his ruined life.

His Occlumency began to fail him almost immediately upon arriving home. Expecting it to be replaced with the helpless fury he'd felt before, Severus was dismayed to find that he was simply too exhausted to muster the energy required to feel that much anger. The long hours of carefully shielding his emotions from prying eyes had taken its toll - he was utterly drained, every last defense he'd had in his arsenal depleted.

He trudged up the stairs, not even bothering to cast a simple _Lumos_ as he entered his pitch black bedroom and collapsed on the narrow bed. A errant word flickered in his mind, some vague recollection of the feverish thoughts which had dominated his consciousness the night before, at least up until the point where he'd been too ill to face them any longer.

No, the worst hadn't been the day he'd stumbled across that traitorous article in _The Daily Prophet_, announcing the wedding of one Lily Evans to Mr. James Potter. He might've been out of his mind with jealousy at the time, but that, along with his irrepressible envy over the baby that should have been _his_ (ignoring the fact that he'd never particularly wanted children)... that was _nothing_ compared with what he was feeling now.

The worst was only a figment of the imagination as long as there was the slightest hope things might change for the better. Of all the pain and disappointment he'd suffered throughout his life, that was the lesson Severus found hardest to swallow. He'd never known true heartbreak in the past because he'd always found something to cling to: the slenderest thread of possibility that Lily might forgive him someday, that her marriage wouldn't work out after all, or simply that fate or circumstance or what the fuck ever would reunite them someday.

But even if none of that had happened, just the knowledge that they still lived in the same world, breathed the same air, shared a few of the same happy memories could've been enough... painfully disappointing, but enough somehow.

Now there was nothing left... and tonight, Severus didn't even have the flimsy barriers of strong alcohol and blinding rage to numb him somewhat from the full reality of his shattered heart.

Too weary and stricken to do anything else, he buried his face in the pillows as his thin body began to shudder with violent sobs, truly understanding for the first time in his life what "the worst" really meant.


	4. The Solace

**The Solace**

A shrill scream pierced the early morning stillness, jarring Lily from her exhausted slumber. Burrowing more deeply beneath the blankets, she instinctively huddled closer to Harry as the baby began to cry.

"For heaven's sake, Petunia! What will the neighbors think with you out here shrieking like a... _Dear God!_ What the hell is that?"

"It appears to be a baby, Vernon," Lily's sister replied distractedly.

"Yes, I can see that. But what's it doing on our front... oh, good morning, Gertrude! Did the little ones enjoy their holiday?"

Lily heard a loud shuffle, and then the basket was lifted into the air. "Let's just take this inside and get it sorted out," Petunia said quietly.

"Right."

Petunia and Vernon's house smelled of pine cleaner and fabric softener, overlaid with a wealth of far more enticing odors which caused Lily's empty stomach to unleash a pitiful growl. Toast and cookies, porridge and rice pudding. She did her best to ignore her ferocious hunger, however, as she and Harry were set down with a jolt which seemed far rougher than necessary.

"Well?"

"There's a letter here, addressed to me," Petunia said thoughtfully, and Lily heard the faint crinkle of parchment being unfolded.

"What does it say?"

Petunia paused for a long moment. "My... my sister is dead. Her husband too."

"What!? How?"

"Murdered," Petunia responded flatly.

"Good God! So this is..."

"Their son, yes. Harry."

Vernon grunted, his voice growing louder as he shuffled closer. "Right. Well, what else does the letter say? What are we supposed to do with him?"

Petunia's voice was hesitant as she responded. "It seems we are now his guardians."

"What the...!? Out of the question!" Vernon thundered, causing Harry to break out into a fresh round of frightened sobs. "They didn't... they can't just _do_ that, Petunia! Even if we _wanted_ to take the boy in, there are proper procedures for that sort of thing! Paperwork. Government agencies! You don't just... this is 1981, for God's sakes! Decent people don't just go around leaving babies on doorsteps!"

"Apparently their kind do things differently."

"Exactly!" Vernon agreed, slamming his fist down on the table. Lily moved closer to the baby, desperately wishing there was something she could do to calm his frantic howling. "They do _everything_ differently, and see what happens? Do you see, Petunia? Nothing good ever comes out of being abnormal. People like that get themselves murdered. And now they expect us to..."

"I'm sure we're the last people Lily would've wanted to look after her child. Unfortunately, I'm his only living kin."

"You aren't suggesting that we actually go through with this?"

Petunia sighed heavily. "I fail to see where we have much choice in the matter."

"But..." Vernon trailed off, sputtering loudly for a second or two before he continued. "We _agreed_, Petunia! We weren't going to get wrapped up in any of this... Wizard business. And what about Dudley? Surely you don't want to raise our son around a... a _freak_!"

Lily cringed. She hated that word.

"No, I certainly don't _want_ to. But this isn't about what we want, it seems."

Vernon's breath came in a series of ragged pants as he struggled for a response. "What about... government agencies? Yes. I've no doubt there are places for orphaned children. There must be. Professionals who are better equipped to handle this than we are. We could take him there and explain the situation. I'm sure..."

"We can't do that."

"Why the hell not?"

There were several long moments of silence before Petunia spoke again. "Because he's... well, what if it got out, Vernon? These things are hard to keep secret, you know that. What if people found out that we refused to give a home to our orphaned nephew, who had nowhere else in the world to go? Can you imagine what they'd say about us? It's not as if we can explain what he is without the majority of people thinking we're completely daft. All they'll see is that we abandoned a helpless baby."

Vernon seemed to deflate, dropping heavily into a chair. "I see your point. All right then, I suppose we'll just have to endure it somehow. But none of that magic business! I tell you right now, Petunia, I won't have it in my house!"

"Of course not."

"And Dudley comes first in all things."

"Naturally."

"Oh, blast it, I'm going to be late for work. I'm sure you can manage what needs to be done. Good God, I can't believe the audacity of..."

Any following words were indistinguishable as he left the room, grumbling all the way up the stairs and back down again, then slamming the door behind him with a resounding thud.

"I suppose you're hungry," Petunia said a few minutes later, speaking directly to Harry for the first time. "Could use a changing as well. I don't know what those people were thinking, leaving you on the porch like some discarded parcel. You smell atrocious. Well, come on then-"

Before Lily realized what was happening, her sister lifted the baby from the basket, blankets and all. It was too late to grab hold of anything to anchor herself; her tiny body was flung through the air, landing with a bone jarring thud in the middle of Petunia's pristine kitchen floor.

Petunia screamed, nearly dropping the baby in her arms. She managed to plunk him back in his basket instead, then grabbed a nearby broom and began swatting wildly in Lily's general direction. A different infant's cry, more high-pitched and petulant somehow, sounded from the floor above, joining itself to the cadence of Harry's startled wails.

"Bloody vermin!" Petunia shrieked hysterically, finally making impact as Lily slammed into a cupboard and sank to the ground, shaking her head violently in an attempt to clear away her disorientation.

"Tuney," she tried to call out. "It's me, Lily!"

But all that emerged was a feeble squeak, bearing the oddest resemblance to a..."

"A _mouse_!" Petunia continued in her tirade, as Lily escaped beneath the refrigerator in an attempt to avoid the poorly aimed blows. "A filthy rodent!" She dropped the broom with a clatter; Lily poked her head out and watched with a great deal of bewildered anger as her sister stalked over to the sobbing baby. "Not once has there been a pest in my home. Then _you_ come along and not even an hour passes before you bring filth into our lives. I suppose it's no more than I should have expected; come on, I'm going to lose my breakfast if I have to smell your stench any longer."

Lily watched resentfully as her sister snatched up the baby and stormed out of the room. As soon as the footsteps had faded away, followed by the sound of running water from the floor above, she darted out of her hiding place, intent on finding the closest reflective surface. It wasn't difficult - the bottom of the refrigerator was metallic and shiny. Perhaps it didn't offer the level of clarity of a proper mirror, but it was sufficient enough for Lily to get a good look at herself nonetheless.

She let out another squeak, a noise that would have emerged as horrified in her human form, though it sounded exactly the same as every other sound she'd made since Voldemort had aimed his wand in her direction. Opening her eyes wider in disbelief, Lily found herself found herself staring at the reflection of what appeared to be a perfectly ordinary field mouse.

No...

It wasn't a transformation. It couldn't be. Ordinary transformations didn't leave corpses in their wake, nor were they anything more than an outward glamour designed to fool others at the most obvious level. This - she - was something more than Lily dressed up in whiskers and soft brown fur. She really _was_ an animal... or at least she could sense the animal's spirit residing in the same tiny body as herself. It was a subtle presence, only making itself known in quiet, instinctive urges she knew did not belong to her own consciousness. The inexplicable need to set her sharp little teeth upon a stack of old newspapers in the corner of the kitchen, or the pressing desire to explore the odors that filled the room, but primarily those related to cereals and grains, not the eggs and bacon her former body would've craved.

Petunia stomped back into the room just then; Lily darted behind the trash bin to escape her notice. Rice cereal... oh, that smelled delicious. She ignored the other scents that filled the air as her sister bustled around the kitchen, obviously preparing breakfast for the children.

After she'd carried the boys back downstairs and settled them at the table to eat, Petunia snatched the receiver off the wall and jabbed in a number. "Godric's Hollow, if you please. The local funeral home. What? Which one? I don't bloody care!"

To say it was unnerving to sit and listen as her own funeral was being planned was an understatement - it was positively surreal. Lily was upset at the idea of being buried in that place, so far from the city where she'd grown up or any of the things which had been familiar to her throughout her life. It didn't surprise her that her sister had no desire to see her buried nearby, but didn't she at least merit a place in the family plot?

But the more she thought about it, the more it seemed right somehow. Godric's Hollow might be foreign to her in many ways, due to the fact that she hadn't been able to leave her home, to make friends, to create a life there... but at the same time, it was the only place in the world where she, James, and Harry had lived together as a family. And being buried beside James, which she quickly understood was Petunia's intention... well, that wouldn't be so bad.

James... Lily hadn't had much opportunity to think about the tragedy which had befallen her husband, nor to openly acknowledge her grief. It was certainly there, a sort of dull, persistent sorrow which hovered around the edges of her consciousness as she struggled to find her bearings in this strange new existence. But even if she hadn't been dealing with any number of more pressing matters, she knew she didn't have it in her to mourn James with the all-consuming, life shattering level of grief that might have been expected of her. That realization made her feel incredibly guilty.

But then again, it was why she'd chosen James in the first place. James was easy - steady, predictable, safe. Lily had always been in a position of dominance with James... not only where the dynamics of their relationship were concerned, but also able to maintain full control over the emotions she felt for him.

It might not have said much for her Gryffindor courage, but after her volatile friendship with Severus, she'd needed stability. To be with someone as uncomplicated as James had been a balm to her shattered heart, welcome solace in the aftermath of fighting and eventually failing to keep her best friend from succumbing to the awful temptation of the Dark Arts, the deplorable Slytherins who urged him onward, and the eventual master who waited in the wings to destroy his future.

Caring for Severus had been an endless succession of dizzying highs and abysmal lows - he'd been the biting chill in the dead of winter, a raging blizzard threatening to consume her body and soul as it obliterated thought and reason. Without warning, that intensity could shift to radiant sunlight on the hottest summer day, warming her to her soul in a way that made her feel as if the frigid storms would never come again.

But they always had, knocking her off kilter without so much as a fleeting moment to prepare for the onslaught.

Severus had always been... _more_ than other boys somehow. More passion, more intensity, certainly a great deal more intelligence... he loved more deeply and hated with more ferocity than anyone Lily had ever known, and that was _frightening_. Not merely because the idea of that sheer force of personality existing under Voldemort's command was terrifying, which it certainly had been, but also due to the fact that Lily had never really been in control of herself where he was concerned.

Oh, Severus had been accommodating enough, nearly always putting her needs and desires above his own. Lily even believed his deference to her whims had been genuine, but these things never managed to counter the way he utterly dominated her emotions. Severus could be as submissive as he damn well pleased, downright subservient at times, but Lily had never truly been in control. For every instance where he'd done her homework, given in and took part in some harebrained scheme, or permitted her to fuss over him like an overprotective mother, there were twice as many incidents where he'd determined whether she was blissfully happy or downright miserable, just by being... _Severus._

And all the while, he'd never seemed aware of how much power he held over her. For some reason, that had been the most frightening part of all.

After their final fight, that terrible day that had brought an end to their friendship, Lily had been beyond devastated. It had felt as if her soul had been hollowed out, emptied, drained of warmth or comfort, just a raw, aching wound where her heart should have been. There had been no words to describe that awful feeling, how much it had absolutely gutted her to lose Severus; Lily had only known that in the future, she never, _ever_ wanted to find herself as vulnerable as she'd proven to be with him. She couldn't stand for her life, her happiness, _herself_ to be that dependent on another person again.

It wasn't that what he'd done had been unforgivable. No, the reason Lily had been unable to accept his apologies was that she simply couldn't go through that level of pain a second time. No matter how much she'd cared about Severus, she'd been a 16-year-old girl... the realization that his presence in her life promised nothing less than salvation or destruction for them both had proven to be too much pressure for a young girl who just wanted to feel safe and happy, to enjoy the few short years she'd had left before being thrust into the horrible war that awaited them all.

Yes, Severus had been more than other boys. Too much, in the end.

When James had come along, a mild spring day after years of bitter cold and violent summer storms, it had been so easy to fall into him. He'd been refreshingly simple, never any nasty surprises or sudden changes in mood or behavior. James had been the lazy river in the aftermath of a raging ocean, and Lily had simply floated along, confident in the ability to steer her own course.

That wasn't to say that James never did anything to hurt her feelings, but it was far easier to excuse his behavior and put it behind her. "James means well, he can just be a little insensitive at times."

There wasn't any doubt in Lily's mind that she'd loved him - it had just been a much more moderate sort of affection. She'd recognized James' potential as a dependable husband and loving father, an ideal companion she could rely on in chaotic times. Their relationship might have lacked burning passion or any all-consuming emotional investment on her part, but it had definitely satisfied her needs.

Her grief was moderate as well, and upon further thought, there was no reason why it shouldn't be. She mourned him quietly, rationally, no uncontrollable outbursts or expressions of raw, gutwrenching agony over the loss, which was entirely appropriate to the bond they'd shared.

Not like Severus...

Throughout the afternoon, Lily found her thoughts returning to that unexpected scene more and more frequently as she hid in the shadows and watched Petunia go about her routine. Severus, whispering her name, holding her lifeless body in his arms as he'd vented his grief in ragged sobs.

Lily wasn't sure how to feel about it, or why it seemed to turn her stomach inside out whenever it crossed her mind. But eventually her emotions settled into something that could clearly be defined as relief. Severus... _her_ Severus still existed somewhere inside the heartless facade of Voldemort's minion. And more than that, he'd obviously still cared for her a great deal, enough to mourn her with a deep and vulnerable sincerity that burrowed its way inside her heart, bringing solace to a place which had lain raw and empty since the day she'd lost him.

Crawling into the tiny hole she'd created for herself in the bottom of Harry's makeshift crib later that evening, Lily closed her eyes and listened to her baby's soft, even breathing as she drifted off to sleep. It was far from the ideal situation she would have liked for Harry, but for now, at least he was safe, warm and well fed, peacefully sleeping in the abysmally small cupboard Lily was certain she'd find plenty of time to fume about later.

For the time being, however, she let it go. In this strange new world, it was enough just to know they'd both survive to see another day.


	5. The Promise

**The Promise**

"Peppermint Humbugs," Severus snarled, cursing at the ridiculous password as the stone gargoyle slid aside to let him pass.

Not surprised to find the Headmaster's office deserted, he slumped heavily into the nearest chair and reached inside his coat for the bottle he'd stashed in an inner pocket. He raised it to his lips before changing his mind, conjuring a tumbler instead.

Drinking wouldn't make what he had to do any easier, of course, but he downed the cheap whiskey anyway, relishing the way it burned his throat and made his eyes water. One swallow, two, and then he hurled the empty glass at the wall, watching dispassionately as it exploded in shattered fragments all over the floor.

The portraits jerked awake with a succession of startled squeaks and muttered complaints, though only Phineas Black took the risk of addressing him directly.

"Do you mind? We're trying to sleep here!"

"Fuck off," Severus said sourly. And then for good measure, he conjured a second glass and flung it directly at the gilded frame; with a shout of alarm, the former Headmaster crowded into a neighboring painting just in time to avoid impact.

They watched him warily after that, silently, with pronounced scowls and disapproving stares. Severus really didn't give a shit; as long as they were quiet, he could ignore them easily enough. Did it really matter that the old busybodies were about to witness what was likely to be the most vulnerable moment of his life?

Did _anything_ fucking matter anymore?

Occlumency along with plenty of alcohol had served him well in the aftermath of his visit to Lucius. He'd existed in a numb haze for nearly a week, overwhelming grief reduced to a low, constant buzz in the back of his mind as he'd sat in the darkness of his miserable living room back in Spinner's End. He'd disconnected from everything; even issues of _The Daily Prophet_ had gone up in flames without a second glance after the first headline had proclaimed, "An Unprecedented Victory for the Wizarding World!"

Assholes.

It had only been when a missive had arrived from Hogwarts that he'd bothered to rouse himself from his stupor long enough to open the damned thing.

_Severus,_

_Please report to me in my office at your earliest convenience._

_Albus_

Severus hadn't bothered to shower or shave before responding to the summons, nor had he troubled himself to put on a clean robe. A quick glance in the mirror was almost frightening; he didn't particularly care for his appearance even at the best of times, but the hollow-eyed cadaver staring back at him had evolved from "unpleasant" to "positively grotesque." Dirty black hair fell in matted tangles around a face so translucent it could only be described as gray. Cold, bloodless, with only the jarring contrast of a scraggly black beard to break up the ashen monotony.

He'd lost a great deal of weight, too, transforming his already thin frame into something almost skeletal; his body seemed to be held together by nothing more than sharp angles and sinew, black robes dangling from his limbs as if he were some sort of a macabre scarecrow.

To make matters worse, his robes were filthy... he could smell a rather sickening cocktail of stale booze, body odor, and the acrid aroma of Muggle cigarettes emanating from himself every time he shifted in his chair.

Good.

Let the old men see... let him fully understand the consequences of his negligence. Let him know that some damage was irrevocable; Severus might still draw breath, but he was as dead as Lily herself in all the ways that mattered.

With that thought, he readied himself to do something that was contrary to his very nature - sucking in a deep breath, he dropped all his defenses, willingly exposing the true depths of his grief. It slammed into him like a Stunner to the chest, ragged gasps for air soon turning into hoarse, wordless cries that echoed throughout the silent office. That was the price to be paid for Occluding - the pain wasn't lessened, merely delayed, having piled up behind his shields like a dam withholding water.

It was the reason why all the numerous books Severus had read on the subject of Occlumency had stressed moderation above all things, lowering the shields at regular intervals to maintain that crucial divide between sanity and madness. One had even included a tale about a Wizard who'd ended his life simply because he'd chosen to Occlude for months on end, rather than deal with the relatively minor setback of a missed promotion at the Ministry of Magic. By the time he'd dropped his shields, the mild disappointment had morphed into such overwhelming anguish that he'd chosen to poison himself rather than suffer through it.

A handful of days wasn't on par with a few months, of course, but losing Lily was also immensely more devastating than missing out on some silly promotion. It _hurt_… so much that he was tempted to jerk his shields back into place and say, "To hell with it."

He didn't.

By the time Dumbledore arrived, Severus was hunched over in his chair, arms wrapped tightly around his midsection as his thin frame shuddered and heaved with violent sobs. Lily... dead... gone forever... his fault... his fault...

"Severus?"

He didn't look up.

"Severus, please."

He swallowed hard, fighting for the composure to speak. "H-how," he managed between gritted teeth. "How did it happen?"

Dumbledore paused. "You don't know? It's been all over the papers."

_"Haven't been reading the fucking papers!"_

"I see," Dumbledore let out a heavy sigh before he continued. "The Potters were under the protection of the Fidelus charm..."

"Yes, yes," Severus snapped impatiently. "I assumed as much. How was the charm broken? Who was their Secret Keeper?"

"You really have been out of the loop, haven't you?" Dumbledore stepped away; there was a rustling of papers at his desk, and a moment later, a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ was slid into Severus' lap.

He stared at the headline in disbelief, before his eyes moved downward, momentarily hypnotized by the image of Sirius Black raving maniacally at the camera. It took a minute to process what he was reading; for all his deep-seated loathing of the man, it seemed impossible that Sirius would betray his best friend, the person he'd seemed to have loved above all others.

Severus snorted to himself. Then again, why wouldn't he? The man was obviously a lunatic, something he'd known long before he'd had the evidence lying right there in his lap, screaming up at him like a fucking madman.

He wanted to be enraged, to swear vengeance upon the man who was already in prison and well beyond his reach. A blind fury... that would be far preferable to what he felt instead... sad, hollow, wanting to weep all over again upon the realization that Lily truly hadn't been able to trust a single one of the people who should have protected her. Had she realized that by the end? Or had she gone to her death with some measure of faith remaining in her heart?

And then Severus knew the answer; Lily would've never given up on the people she'd loved, not even when all hope was lost.

_Except for me. She gave up on me.  
Worse, I deserved it. If I didn't then, I sure as hell do now._

He felt the tears coursing down his cheeks again, hot and bitter, and knew it was time to speak the words he'd come to say. Finally raising his head, he looked Dumbledore straight in the eye, feeling a distant flicker of satisfaction when the older Wizard visibly cringed in reaction to his ragged appearance.

"I thought... you were going... to keep her... safe..."

"She and James put their faith in the wrong person. Rather like you, Severus. Weren't you hoping that Lord Voldemort would spare her?"

If he'd hoped to make the old man feel guilty, he'd obviously failed miserably in that task. Trust Dumbledore to turn it back around on him, keeping himself as clean and pure as always. But he'd promised... _promised_, so responsibility for Lily's death lay as much with him as anyone else. He could avoid it all he wanted - Severus knew only too well that there was no way to get any straight answers out of him that weren't freely volunteered - but they both knew the truth. That would have to be enough... at least for now.

"Her boy survives."

What the fuck did that have to do with anything?

"Her son lives. He has her eyes, precisely her eyes. You remember the shape and color of Lily Evans' eyes, I am sure?"

A flood of images spilled across his mind. Green eyes, wide-eyed and innocent, gazing at a shabby little boy without a trace of judgement, even after he'd completely fucking botched their first introduction. Those eyes, sparkling with excitement as she'd come racing across the playground, waving her Hogwarts acceptance letter wildly in one fist. Lily's eyes, sweet and pure, pools of wonder surrounded by a thick fringe of dark lashes. Utterly perfect in every way. How many different versions of them had he seen over the years, impossibly beautiful regardless of whether they were bright and filled with laughter, or dark and stormy in a moment of anger?

Those eyes... dull and lifeless as they'd stared at nothing. Eyes that would never again crinkle at the corners when she laughed, or flash with some mysterious emotion he couldn't put a name to. Eyes that would never turn his way again, filled with fondness or fury, or...

Forgiveness.

"DON'T!" he choked out. "Gone... dead..."

"Is this remorse, Severus?"

Damn him, Dumbledore knew exactly what he was doing. But why? Was it just to prove yet again that he'd been right all along? Did the old fool really think that Severus didn't fucking _know_ that by now... that he hadn't realized it from the moment he'd learned Lily's life was in danger? Why rub it in?

"I wish... I wish I were dead," was all he could manage to utter aloud.

"And what use would that be to anyone? If you loved Lily Evans, if you truly loved her, then your way forward is clear."

"What... what do you mean?"

"You know how and why she died. Make sure it was not in vain. Help me protect Lily's son."

Severus stared at him, aghast. "He does not need protection. The Dark Lord has gone."

"The Dark Lord will return," Dumbledore said calmly, "and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does."

It was a possibility Severus had only briefly considered, too consumed by grief to give the matter much serious thought. But the certainty in Dumbledore's voice gave him pause - despite his rather conflicted personal feelings toward the older Wizard, particularly at the moment, he knew better to doubt that kind of conviction.

So the war wasn't over, merely on hiatus while the Dark Lord recovered his strength. Fan-fucking-tastic.

But then again... some emotion pricked at the edges of his mind, something beyond the anger and the guilt, and the terrible, terrible sadness. Yes, he owed it to Lily to protect her son from harm; vile spawn of Potter's or not, it was the least he could do under the circumstances. But beyond that...

Beyond that, he could finally become what he should've been for her all along - the Severus who did the right thing, not the wrong one. Someone who would put aside his own feelings for the sake of others, no matter what the cost to himself, his sanity, his life might be. That was the Severus Lily would've loved... the Severus who would have never lost her to begin with.

Too little, too late, perhaps, but it was something. And in a world where he had nothing left, it could easily be _everything_ from this moment forward. It might no longer possible to earn her forgiveness in the way he'd wished for, but once he'd done enough to know that he _would have_ if she'd still been alive to grant it... maybe that would finally give him the peace he'd been certain was beyond his reach forever.

Yes. _Yes._

Severus was beyond any capacity for loyalty to either the Darkness or the Light for his own sake; both had betrayed him, resulting in the loss of the only thing he'd ever truly cared about in this miserable world. Both had broken promises, with the same devastating results. And neither gave a damn about him beyond whatever service he could provide to further their precious agenda.

But Lily... _her_ allegiance had never wavered, and Severus knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that her feelings wouldn't have changed, even if she'd known the final outcome. For her then, he'd take up the cause - _her cause_ - and play his part in all the battles she no longer had the ability to fight for herself. He'd protect her fucking son, and Merlin help any unfortunate fool who tried to stand in his way.

Dumbledore was watching him closely; Severus wrapped the thick blanket of Occlumency around his troubled emotions once more, feeling his anguished features relax into a smooth mask that betrayed nothing of what he was truly feeling. The old Wizard had seen enough already... indeed, far too much by his own estimation.

"Very well. Very well," he said, relieved to find that his voice was reasonably steady again, despite the vehemence behind the words he spoke. "But never... never tell, Dumbledore! This must be between us! Swear it! I cannot bear... especially Potter's son. I want your word!"

"My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you? If you insist..."

He chose to ignore the words, along with what appeared to be genuine sadness in the old man's eyes. Now that he had a purpose to fulfill, the need to take action, to move past everything he felt straight to what he could _do_ about it, was paramount.

"Where is the boy now? What must I do?"

Dumbledore held up a hand. "You misunderstand me, Severus. Harry is perfectly safe for the time being, and likely to remain that way for the next ten years. I have entrusted him to the care of Lily's sister, Mrs. Petunia Dursley. The blood ties he shares with his own kin are far more powerful than any protection you or I could provide. Until the time comes for him to begin his schooling..."

Severus cut him off with a loud snort. "If you left him with that shrew, he's in more danger than we thought. Do you have any idea what that woman is like?"

"Do you?" Dumbledore countered sharply. "From what I understand, you haven't seen her for many years. A childhood rivalry doesn't necessarily mean..."

"Rivalry? It was nothing of the sort. That girl was the cruelest, nastiest... not just to me, but to her own sister, too. You don't know..."

Dumbledore brought him to silence with nothing more than a penetrating look. "That people can lash out when they're feeling jealous or threatened? Or that it's entirely possible to actively push those we love away over the fear of losing them? Come, Severus. Petunia cannot be the monster you imagine her to be. On the contrary, I would've thought you'd be perceptive enough to realize that the two of you aren't so different."

Severus sputtered in outrage. "I am _nothing_ like that... that..."

"I'm disappointed you feel that way," Dumbledore said, his voice soft and solemn as he paced back and forth across the office. "Empathy can ease many of our hardest burdens in this life. I daresay a bit more of that quality would make the task you have set before you far less difficult to swallow."

"I'm doing this for Lily," Severus said coldly. "I can certainly empathize with her wish to protect her son. Beyond that, it's of no matter to me. The boy could be a mutant for all I care - and as he's James Potter's spawn, I definitely wouldn't rule out that possibility. Make no mistake about it, Dumbledore. There will be no attachments. There will be no happy ending. I will do what I must, what I have promised to do. Nothing more."

Dumbledore sighed. "Very well. No man can be forced to feel what isn't already in his heart. I just hope that..."

"So what am I meant to do with the next decade of my life?" Severus interjected before the old man could get too maudlin. "I suppose you're sacking me."

"My boy, whatever gave you that idea?"

Severus hesitated. "I just assumed - well, I don't imagine the Wizarding world as it stands now will welcome the idea of its children being instructed by a former Death Eater."

"The Wizarding world will just have to get used to it," Dumbledore countered mildly. "If I were in the mood to be more accommodating, I suppose I could just bring you on again later when some of the commotion has died down, but why wait? I still need a Potions Master, and you've made it quite clear that you need something to occupy your time until you can take a more active role in Harry's protection."

Ten years... ten years of teaching those miserable excuses for students, most of whom had little desire to learn. Ten years of walking the familiar halls of Hogwarts, faced with painful reminders of _her_ at every turn. Ten years doing a job he hated, amidst a staff who stared at him with eyes full of suspicion, their conversations coming to an abrupt halt whenever he entered a room.

Ten years, spent at the only place that had ever felt like home.

Severus said nothing, indicating his acceptance with a curt nod.

"Good," Dumbledore said almost cheerfully. "Very good. The students will be returning from their holiday the day after tomorrow. I'll expect you to have pulled yourself together by then, Severus. Sleep, bathe, eat something, yes?"

For the first time throughout the course of their meeting, the old Wizard's eyes came dangerously close to a twinkle; Severus knew it was time to make his escape.

"Of course, Headmaster," he responded obediently. "Will that be all?"

"Yes, Severus. For now."


	6. The Warning

**The Warning**

Like most Muggles, the Dursleys were easy enough to find.

James and Lily Potter's wedding announcement, retrieved somewhat grudgingly from an old copy of _The Daily Prophet_ had faithfully listed the bride's sister and brother-in-law among her next of kin, along with her mother and father (both deceased).

Severus frowned at the mention of Lily's parents. Too intent on incinerating the fucking thing the first time he'd come across it, he hadn't actually read anything beyond the headline itself. A separate search turned up an obituary for Mrs. Margaret Evans dated March 11, 1978, followed by another for Mr. Daniel Evans, published on June 17 of the same year.

He hesitated, experiencing a moment of genuine grief for the people who'd shown him far more kindness than his own parents had done. Dead? Neither of them could've been older than their late 40s, which was young even by Muggle standards. What could have happened to cut not just one, but both their lives short within months of one another? Severus was tempted to investigate further, but that would have to wait for another time.

Meanwhile, he had a specific purpose in mind, one that prompted him to rise from the comfortable armchair in front of the fireplace in his private quarters and stalk over to the gilded mirror that was affixed to the back of his bathroom door.

The expressionless face he found staring back at him looked a little better; a decent meal and a healthy dose of Dreamless Sleep Potion the night before had brought the slightest bit of color back into his pallid skin, and the dark circles beneath his eyes weren't quite so pronounced. A quick shower had restored his hair to its usual lank condition, and the itching caused by his overgrown whiskers had provided enough motivation for a much-needed shave. But he still appeared more gaunt than usual, with a haunted look in his black eyes that was more than a little disconcerting.

Of course, a few simple glamours could take care of that if he felt so inclined.

He didn't.

Instead, his thin lips curved into a humorless smirk as he threw open the doors to his oversized wardrobe. There would be no Muggle clothing, no attempts to make his appearance less offensive in even the slightest way. He selected his blackest, most billowy robes and drew them on, finishing off the ensemble with his best pair of dragon hide boots and a thick velvet cloak that trailed the ground behind him as he walked.

The school was deserted as he made his way out of the castle and across the grounds to reach the Apparition point... one final day of blessed silence before he'd be obligated to resume the miserable facade that passed for his normal life.

A few well placed telephone calls from a public booth just outside of Diagon Alley provided him with a phone number and address for Mr. and Mrs. Vernon Dursley, along with Mr. Dursley's occupation and place of business. He also stopped for a flask of whiskey and a pack of Muggle cigarettes, quite certain he'd need them both before the day was over.

And then it was off to Little Whinging, a town that couldn't have possibly had a more appropriate name as far as he was concerned. The wizard strolled almost leisurely down the street in a swirl of voluminous black robes, ignoring the gawking idiots he passed along the way as he scowled at the perfectly manicured lawns and virtually identical houses. Muggles were such peculiar creatures; why would anyone spend so much money just to appear like everyone else?

Naturally, 4 Privet Drive was only distinguishable from the other bland residences by the address carefully stenciled on the mailbox. Severus stalked up the immaculate driveway, making a spontaneous detour to trample across a carefully cultivated bed of tulips before finally arriving on the front porch. He cast a quick cleansing spell on his muddy boots, then extended a long, pale finger and rang the bell.

* * *

Lily was dozing beneath Harry's crib when the doorbell sounded, immediately followed by the sharp clatter of Petunia's heels against the linoleum as her sister crossed the kitchen floor and emerged into the hall. Curious, Lily poked her tiny head out of the cupboard as the bell rang for a second time, and then a third.

"Coming!" Petunia called pleasantly.

There was a series of clicks as locks were unfastened, followed by a sharp gasp, and then the entire house shuddered as the front door was slammed shut with a resounding thud.

"Impeccable manners, as always," drawled a familiar voice, muffled through the thick wood. "Are you going to let me in, or am I to stand out here all afternoon while your neighbors decide amongst themselves exactly who I am and what business a weirdo like me might have with the disgustingly respectable Mrs. Dursley? It makes no difference to me; I'm sure I can find plenty of ways to amuse myself while I wait. _Evanesco!_"

The door squeaked loudly as it was jerked open again. "What are you doing here?! For God's sake, put that thing away!"

Smirking, Severus slipped his wand into the sleeve of his robe.

"Y...you! What...? Why are you _here_?"

"As much as I'd love to stand around watching you attempt to wrap your feeble brain around the reality of my existence, I'm afraid my time is limited. So let's just get the inane pleasantries out of the way, shall we? Good afternoon, Petunia. Yes, it _has_ been a long time. You look exactly the same - not that that should be taken as a compliment, mind you. Me? How good of you to ask! I..."

"What do you want, Severus?" Petunia hissed from between clenched teeth.

"I've come to discuss the boy."

"There's nothing to discuss."

"Oh, I beg to differ." Severus paused to flick an invisible speck of dust off his sleeve. "The only question is - will you be inviting me inside, or shall we have this conversation right here on the porch?"

"I'm not letting you in my house!"

"Very well," said Severus, wearing a distinctly bored expression. "Albus Dumbledore informs me that the child has been left in your care. As someone who is quite familiar with your... feelings concerning the Magical world..."

"_Keep your voice down!_"

Severus ignored the slightly hysterical note in Petunia's voice, elevating his own just a little more with each subsequent word he spoke. "I've taken it upon myself to journey from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to inform you..."

_"All right!"_ Petunia shrieked, opening the door wide. "Get in here!"

Severus smirked as he shouldered past her. "I thought you'd never ask."

Lily shrank back into the darkness of the cupboard as the tall, black clad figure entered the foyer, wrinkling his hooked nose in a clear expression of distaste as he surveyed the spotless house. She knew she should be nervous, terrified even - after all, there was a Death Eater standing just a few feet away from her sleeping baby. But ever since she'd seen Severus weeping over her broken body, she'd found herself wondering if the Order had somehow been mistaken concerning his true allegiance.

After all, there were few people in the Wizarding world who'd been identified beyond a shadow of a doubt as followers of Voldemort. True, the company one kept and the ideals they spouted went a long way when it came time to point fingers, but all in all, the organization was shrouded in secrecy, its members carefully disguised in masks and voluminous cloaks whenever they were seen at all.

Could Severus have escaped it somehow, that dark fate which had seemed inevitable during their final years at school? Of course, other Order members had never failed to list his name among the suspects, but as far as she knew, no one had even seen her former friend since graduation. Was it possible that...?

"Okay, spit it out," Petunia said tersely, interrupting Lily's thoughts as she slammed the door and turned around with her arms folded across her chest.

"What, no tea and biscuits?" Severus said mockingly, raising one eyebrow in an uncannily familiar gesture. "Very well. I've come here to inform you that if any harm comes to Lily's son while under your care, you will deeply, and repeatedly, regret it by the time I'm done with you. Do I make myself clear?"

From her vantage point, Lily saw a distinct flicker of fear in her sister's eyes, but it was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared. "What's it to you?" she snapped, long-held resentment rising to triumph over momentary trepidation. "From what I understand, Lily was smart enough to sever all ties with you quite a few years ago. Isn't it a little pathetic to insert yourself into her business at this late date? What could you possibly hope to gain from it now?"

The coldness in Severus' black eyes was suddenly so palpable that the temperature itself seemed to drop a few degrees. Lily shivered.

He opened his mouth, and then closed it again with a barely perceptible shake of his head. "My reasons are irrelevant," he finally said in a stiff voice. "Suffice it to say that we find ourselves in a similar position - both responsible for the safety of a boy whose mother could no longer tolerate our presence in her life. Or was it the other way around in your case? I suppose it doesn't matter now. Just make sure no harm comes to him, or..."

"Lily was a freak!" Petunia suddenly exploded. "You, that husband of hers, all of you, freaks! Can you blame me for...? Nevermind; of course you do. But whatever you think of me, I would never... I'm not a monster!"

"Such a subjective word," Severus responded smoothly, his lip curling into a sneer as Petunia's face turned a more mottled shade of red.

"I didn't ask for this, you know," Petunia continued, her voice high and uneven as she paced back and forth across the tiny room. "All I ever wanted was a normal life, and I _had_ it! I had it, until that... that _brat_ was left on my doorstep! Now I'm stuck with him, and no doubt he'll be a freak just like she was! It's... it's not fair! Why should I..."

Her mouth clamped shut as Severus closed the distance between them in a few swift strides, shrinking back as he loomed over her much smaller form.

"Fair, Petunia?" he said, his voice deadly quiet in the suddenly silent foyer. "How dare you stand here whining about a minor inconvenience, when your own sister... at least you still _have_ a life to ruin. Don't fucking talk to me about _fair_, when Lily isn't even cold in her grave. And don't you _dare_ blame her for..."

Severus was shaking by the time he trailed off, his expression feral as he bared his teeth at an obviously very frightened Petunia. For a moment, Lily was certain he was about to hit the cowering woman; instead, he swung around and drove his fist into the wall. Chunks of plaster rained down all over the spotless floor as he withdrew his hand and cast a disinterested glance at his bloodied knuckles.

"Are you completely insane?" Petunia shrilled, stumbling over her feet as she took a couple of hasty steps backward.

"Close enough," Severus said softly. "I wouldn't try my patience, at any rate."

"You'll have to pay for that!"

"Indeed?" He raised a quizzical eyebrow. "And exactly how do you intend to enforce such a demand?"

"I..." Petunia started, then looked almost relieved as a loud, petulant wail sounded from the floor above. She turned back to Severus with a scowl. "There, are you happy? You've woken him up! Now if you don't mind..."

"Yes, I'll be more than happy to leave. But not until I have your word that the boy..."

"I'm not going to hurt him!" Petunia snapped impatiently. "Now will you just _get out_?!"

"With pleasure," Severus responded, giving her a mocking bow before turning in a swirl of black robes and striding over to the door.

"Wait," Petunia said quietly, her voice strangely free of any irritation for the first time since Severus'arrival. "Don't... don't you want to see him? He looks just like..."

"No."

And just like that, he was gone.

* * *

Those first few weeks were interminable, with nothing to do but speculate over numerous questions that would most likely never be answered. Lily tried to be grateful for what she did have - she was alive, technically speaking, able to remain close to her baby throughout the long, lonely days of learning what it was to exist without the ability to speak or otherwise reach out to those around her. She could count herself lucky if she ignored the dismal reality of not being able to hold her son, to care for him, to comfort him.

Yes, she tried to make the best of things, simply because there was no other choice. Harry was at least fed, bathed, and changed faithfully, despite the glaring absence of the kind words or loving touches he'd been accustomed to before losing his parents. Lily struggled to ignore the Dursleys' coldness, to turn a blind eye to the affection that was positively lavished on little Dudley in contrast with her own neglected son. She had to focus on the positive; otherwise, she'd go mad upon the realization that there wasn't even the slightest chance she might be able to change things for the better.

Still, she found her own little ways of making her feelings known when she simply couldn't push them down anymore. It started with a ragged hole chewed through Vernon's favorite pair of shoes after he'd had the audacity to refer to her child as, "that disgusting brat," soon followed by the methodical shredding of Petunia's silk flowers in response to her bitch of a sister shouting at Harry for inadvertently spilling his cereal.

It was pointless, really... but in a world filled with helpless isolation, even the smallest action counted for something.

Lily often wondered what would become of her, if she was meant to end this strange second life trapped within the body of a tiny rodent without anyone ever having known about her temporary survival. After all, how long did mice actually live? Two years? Three? Was there nothing she could do to communicate to the world that she was still here? Was it a spell, and if so, could it be broken? But how could she find that out, with no way of making anyone else aware of her presence?

Late one night in a moment of desperation, she'd made her way to the kitchen, determined to spell out a message on the spotless linoleum. She'd begun shredding the newspapers which lay in a pile in the corner, carefully dragging each piece into place. L... I... L...

But even that much had taken several exhausting hours of work; she'd had to hastily scamper under the refrigerator to avoid Vernon, long before she'd even come anywhere close to spelling out a coherent message. And of course, the fat oaf had plowed right through the result of her careful labors, leaving nothing behind but a mess of tattered paper and a very annoyed wife.

Eventually there was no choice but to resign herself to her inevitable fate... to make the most of the swiftly dwindling time she had with Harry, and hope for a better life for her son than the one he'd been given.

Dumbledore, McGonagall, Hagrid, Sirius... they would protect him in the years to come. She had to believe there was a logical reason he'd been left with her uncaring sister, separated from those she'd trusted most to care for him. There was no choice but to convince herself that this dismal place was only temporary, an unpleasant preamble to a far brighter future for her child. Believing otherwise simply wasn't an option... not when she was powerless to affect the outcome either way.

Would Severus be there, too? Lily often found herself dwelling upon the unpleasant scene she'd witnessed, the ferocity in her former friend's voice when he'd come to extract a promise concerning Harry's safety. It was discomforting to realize how much Severus must have still cared for her, to remember him sobbing over her lifeless body so brokenly when she hadn't so much as spoken to him in years. Even more disconcerting was the moment she admitted to herself that the feeling was mutual - she'd been angry, hurt, had even given him up as a lost cause, but she'd never stopped loving him.

She should've... well, there was no use wasting time on "should haves" or "would haves" anymore. Despite her numerous regrets, there was a strange comfort in knowing that the Severus she'd cherished, the one she'd feared was gone forever, still existed somewhere.

For some reason, it made her feel a little less alone.


	7. The Incarceration

**The Incarceration**

The Aurors were on hand to apprehend Severus as soon as he set foot inside the Hogwarts grounds.

One second, he was absently Vanishing the stub of his cigarette while mentally calculating how many classes he'd have to suffer through before winter break, and the next found him in chains. Magical bindings wrapped around him like the Muggle straitjacket he'd seen once in an old movie on Lily's parents' television set, choking, constricting, not leaving room for so much as a flicker of movement.

He'd sensed the Aurors' presence before the ambush; perhaps he could have fought them off had he chosen to do so. But what would've been the point in defending himself? Resistance would only add additional offenses to a list which already more or less guaranteed a life sentence in Azkaban.

Had Dumbledore prepared for this inevitability? The question tormented him as he closed his eyes against dizzying sights and sounds that were somehow far more overwhelming when forced to Apparate against one's will. His stomach roiled, a sickness he hadn't felt in years, as two pair of hands gripped him hard enough to leave bruises on his bony shoulders. There was no need to wonder where they were taking him - he'd known their destination long before his feet slammed into the ground, a damp chill seeping into his bones as he blinked hard, once, twice, then opened his eyes to view a dank, gray room.

So this was Azkaban. Like all Wizards, his fear of the place was coupled with morbid fascination. Few ever lived, or at least managed to maintain their sanity, for long enough to report the horrors that went on inside these walls. The secrets of the ancient prison were shrouded in mystery... a shroud as thick and impenetrable as those worn by the Dementors who maintained their silent vigil over the innocent and guilty alike.

"Strip him."

A flick of a wand, and he was nude, not even allowed to maintain the small measure of dignity his underpants would've afforded him as he was poked and prodded, flashes of light illuminating the dim little room as a number of detection spells sought out any hidden contraband.

"He's clean."

Another wave of a wand, and he was suddenly clad in prison garb, barely noticing the roughness of the cheap wool as he welcomed the warmth it provided.

"Pockets?"

The other Auror, obviously the younger of the two, rifled through Severus' discarded robes. "Five Galleons and a few Sickles, a bit of Muggle money, cigarettes, a piece of parchment with an address written on it, and his wand. Shall I break it?"

Severus cringed.

"No," the older Auror responded curtly. "Not until after the trial. I have no doubt this piece of scum will be convicted, of course, but we never break wands without an official verdict of guilty."

"When will that be?"

"A month from now. Perhaps two. The Ministry is extremely backed up right now, sorting out this mess. Now come on... let's get this over with so we can go home."

There wasn't much to see, at least, not at first. It wasn't until Severus was guided outside into a downpour of freezing rain that he realized he hadn't been in the prison at all - behind him lay a squat little building that must've been set aside specifically for Apparition and the receiving of prisoners... before him loomed an impossibly enormous black mass, sinister and foreboding, blotting out the meager light of a crescent moon.

Oh Merlin... he should've fought them, should have gone into hiding or just forced them to kill him on the spot. Something, _anything_ to escape the icy fingers of panic that clawed at his throat as they dragged him closer, one step forward and then another, in the direction of the only place in the world that had ever made him want to scream in horror at the mere sight of it.

Nonetheless, he kept his face impassive as he was guided through a crumbling passageway, remaining stoic as the door was unbolted and he was ushered inside. He hadn't survived the war by cowering like a child, and had no intention of doing so now.

He didn't react to the noises emerging from deep in the bowels of the fortress, wracking sobs and piercing screams that ricocheted off the thick stone walls. The place stank of human refuse, of mildew and death and deep despair, and for the span of a heartbeat, he wished for the freedom of movement to fall to his knees and beg to be taken away. But he was a man who'd served the Dark Lord, one who had borne witness to countless horrors that transformed the sound of the pitiful screams into a cadence that was eerily familiar to his ears.

He could handle this... somehow, he'd find a way to stomach whatever horrors lay within this abominable prison, just as he had with every other atrocity that had made him want to flee in terror or hunch over and retch in sheer disgust.

_Show no weakness. Weakness equals death._

"This way, Mr. Snape," the younger Auror barked out, as his companion murmured a succession of spells that were obviously meant to lower the outer wards.

And then he was taken into another room, identical to the last. He kept his eyes fixed firmly on the wall, trying not to flinch as the chill spread over his body, marking the imminent approach of what could only be a Dementor, possibly two or three of them.

"_Expecto..._"

"No!" the older Auror commanded harshly. "Put your wand away, man, for Merlin's sake. We've taken the prisoner far enough. Let's... let's get out of here."

Just like that, they were gone, no more than a few seconds before a trio of black clad specters floated into the room, gathering around Severus, propelling him forward with the lightest touch. He walked obediently ahead of them, because to do otherwise... the consequences didn't bear thinking about.

He managed a weak shield, enough to draw a thick curtain around his past regrets, but not sufficient to protect his present worries from the pervasive atmosphere of despair that washed over his senses as they passed by cell after cell filled with occupants who were so emaciated, so filthy, that they barely resembled human beings anymore. He averted his eyes at the sight of a lifeless body, trying not to wonder how long it would take before it was noticed and disposed of properly

_There's nothing Dumbledore can do for me now,_ he thought to himself morosely as he was herded into a tiny cell. _Even if he could, why would he bother? He has the entire Wizarding world at his fingertips, and I'm just a worthless Death Eater who is entirely disposable now that he's gotten what he wanted out of me. His plan to have me protect the Potter boy was probably nothing more than a cruel joke. Foolish Severus... let him believe someone might actually have some use for him. Give him some small measure of hope, then strip it away as his final punishment_.

The cell contained a narrow bed covered by a dingy, moth-eaten blanket, a rusty old chamberpot next to a grate in the floor that was obviously intended for the disposal of waste, and a small sink attached to the back wall, white porcelain chipped and stained with age. There were no windows.

Severus dropped heavily onto the bed, muttering a curse as his tailbone connected roughly with the hard surface. Another bruise... he'd lost count by now, though did it really matter?

"Severus! Severus, is that you?"

He lifted his head in surprise, then rose again and stalked over to the bars. Across the corridor was another set of iron slats, between which peered a familiar face... one he'd fervently hoped never to see again.

"Bellatrix," he acknowledged with a slight nod.

"I was wondering if we'd see you here! I was beginning to think you'd made a deal like some of the others..." she trailed off, plump lips curling into an ugly sneer. "Cowards, the whole lot of them. I can't wait until the Dark Lord returns; it will be quite clear to him who is truly loyal and who is not."

"Indeed."

"When is your trial?"

Severus kept his face carefully blank. "A month from now, apparently. Perhaps two."

_A lifetime._

"I've already had mine," Bellatrix informed him proudly. "Guilty, naturally."

"Of course."

_Crazy bitch._

"Oh, don't look so sulky, Severus. I'm sure yours will turn out the same way. And isn't it wonderful? When the Dark Lord sees how much we have sacrificed on his behalf..."

But he wasn't listening anymore. Dark shapes were moving back down the corridor; he struggled for a stronger shield as a picture of Lily's lifeless body rose behind his eyes. So young, so beautiful... such a waste. And it was all his fault. All his fault.

"Meal time," Bellatrix whispered as she withdrew a little further into her cell. "They feed us at odd hours around here. The food is repulsive, but we must eat it anyway. It's important to keep up our strength. He will have great need of us when he does, I'm just sure of it."

At first, Severus assumed the Dementors would be bringing the food, although it was incongruous to imagine the soul sucking demons doing anything as human as delivering plates of nourishment to the prisoners. It turned out he was right - when he heard the scrape of a utensil against some sort of metal dish coming from Bellatrix's cell, he turned around to discover a bowl of porridge and a heel of what appeared to be extremely stale bread lying on his bed.

House-elves? That was the only logical explanation, despite the fact that he'd never known the creatures to prepare any dish that was less than exemplary. He dipped his spoon into the watery mixture and thought wistfully of Hogwarts, dreaming of a hearty helping of hot roast beef, paired with new potatoes boiled in a succulent mixture of butter and fresh herbs.

Severus was hungry, an unexpected sensation that didn't go away even when he found himself scraping a layer of mold off of one corner of his bread before placing it in his mouth. Then again, perhaps it wasn't so surprising; he hadn't eaten since the night before, far too intent on confronting Petunia to worry about trifles such as food. He deeply regretted the oversight now... would it have really killed him to stop for a sandwich or something?

As he lifted the spoon to his lips, grimacing at the bland flavor of the overcooked oats, he couldn't help wondering how long it would take before he looked like those dirty, skeletal figures he'd seen sprawled out across their beds, or huddled on the floors of their dismal cells. Not long, surely... he ran a hand across his already prominent ribs, his lips curling into a humorless smirk as he forced himself to choke down another bite of porridge.

The real question, the one he didn't want to consider too deeply just yet, was why he was making the effort at all. Why prolong the inevitable, the blessed relief of death which must surely be the only way he could hope to escape from this place now? Why allow for even the tiniest flicker of hope - an unknown benefactor, an unanticipated pardon - when there was clearly no chance for either?

Only a few minutes later, a chill wind whistled through the prison, extinguishing all of the torches which had previously shed at least a small measure of light into his cell. Total blackness, deeper and more sinister than any Severus had ever experienced in his life. For the first time, he could begin to understand why Lily had been afraid of the dark.

"Bedtime!" Bellatrix chirped cheerfully from across the way. He ignored her, setting his dishes aside and drawing the thin blanket over himself, despite the fact that he wasn't even remotely sleepy. Exhausted, yes, drained to the core, but not in a way that made him believe he'd actually be able to find any rest in this hellish place. And so he waited out the night, curled tightly around himself, shivering violently as he listened to the anguished cries that signified what must have been dozens of nightmares occuring all around him.

Once he'd gotten settled a bit, Occlumency came a little more easily; powerful shields rose to reduce the lingering terror and heart wrenching despair to a dull sort of misery that really wasn't much worse than anything else he'd felt since Lily had died. And when morning made its presence known with a sickly gray light that somehow made the prison even more dismal than it was under normal circumstances, he rubbed his finger through a thick layer of grime on the floor, then made the first mark on the wall beside his bed.

* * *

There were three marks when the Dementors came for him. They didn't speak, of course, but their meaning was clear as they entered the cell and surrounded him, urging him forward out into the corridor.

"Good luck, Severus!" Bellatrix called after him. "I hope to see you back here soon!"

He kept his eyes on the ground as they wound their way through several passages and down a flight of stairs, emerging into the room where he'd first entered. He couldn't manage even the tiniest flicker of hope in response to the sudden change, only a feeling of dull resignation when he came face to face with the same pair of Aurors who'd brought him to this place. A brief respite, maybe, a final taste of fresh air as he traveled to and from what was probably his impending trial... nothing more. It wasn't anything to get excited about.

But he felt the slightest bit lighter as they emerged from the prison and back into the Apparition room. Removed from the presence of the Dementors, Severus became something like himself again... and as foolish as it might've been, hope was still buried somewhere deep inside his heart. It lay battered, savaged by too much loss and far too little kindness, but lived on nonetheless, whispering that maybe, just maybe, life had given him one more chance after all.

That hope grew stronger as his robes were returned and he was permitted to dress himself, then solidified into something bright and real as his wand was placed in his hand.

"You have been cleared of all charges, Professor Snape," the older Auror muttered, staring at him somewhat dubiously. "Please allow us to return you to Hogwarts."

"No need," Severus said stiffly, then sneered at them both as he Apparated away.

_Assholes._

* * *

And then he was back at the gates, as if it had never happened at all. They'd returned all his possessions, even his cigarettes, one of which he greedily shoved between his lips, igniting the tip with a whispered word. Closing his eyes, he exhaled deeply. Merlin, that felt good... almost as good as the magic coursing through his veins, swift and strong; for the first time in as long as he could remember, Severus cast a spell that wasn't intended for some useful purpose. A twirl of his wand and the pile of fallen leaves floated up to dance in an intricate pattern, before drifting gently back down to earth.

Lily had always loved that trick.

"Headmaster," he said respectfully a few minutes later, seated comfortably in the chair across from Dumbledore's desk. "I don't know what you did, but... but thank you."

The words weren't easy, but they needed to be said; Severus hadn't realized just how much he valued his freedom until it had been taken away. He didn't want much when all was said and done, only the chance to honor the promise he'd made to protect the Potter boy. The one path to redemption... the only sacrifice he could make on Lily's behalf that would actually count for anything after all the wrongs he'd done. Perhaps it was too late to hope to be a better man, but in this, at least, he did not intend to fail.

"There's no need to thank me. It shouldn't have happened to begin with, especially here. I had already put out word that I was to be consulted before any attempts to apprehend you were made, but you know how the Ministry can be..."

"Couldn't find their own asses with both hands and a detailed map?" Severus commented dryly.

Dumbledore let out a chuckle, swiftly disguised as a loud cough. "Would you like some tea, Severus?"

"Yes," he immediately responded, surprising himself. In all his years at Hogwarts, both as a student and a professor, he'd never taken Dumbledore up on any of his inevitable offers of refreshment. But then again, this was the first time he'd ever come straight from Azkaban, having existed for three days on nothing more than abysmal food and tepid, slightly brackish water. Hell yes, he wanted some goddamned tea.

"Cream?"

"No, just two sugars."

He ended up staying for three cups and more biscuits than he could count, only stopping when he noticed the old man watching him with that annoying twinkle in his eye. Shifting uncomfortably, he folded his hands in his lap and averted his eyes.

"Please, Severus, have more if you wish."

"I'm fine."

"Very well. Do you feel up to resuming your classes in the morning? If you need another day or two to recover..."

"No, I feel just fine."

Dumbledore scrutinized him closely, then sighed. "In that case, I have no choice but to take your word for it. I've been covering your classes for the last few days. Standard syllabus; you should have no trouble picking up where I left off."

With a nod of acknowledgment, he rose and turned to go.

* * *

Back in his quarters, Severus scowled at his reflection in the mirror, then immediately went into the bathroom to run a tub of hot water. Stripping off his robes, he threw them in the fireplace and set them ablaze with a quick spell - not necessary, but symbolic somehow. He'd only dipped one toe into the bathwater, however, when he felt an annoying itching sensation he remembered all too well from his childhood.

"Damn it all to hell," he swore to himself, thankful there was a passage which led directly to his private lab, safe from prying eyes. Brewing while stark naked wasn't the wisest idea, but the solution he needed, one that destroyed head lice, was simple enough to prepare.

Fucking Azkaban... his hair was squeaky clean, every inch of skin scoured to the point of redness before he was finally satisfied. _Never again,_ he swore to himself as he pulled on a pair of loose sleeping pants. _I'd rather suck Dumbledore's cock than return to that godawful place._

The next morning, fortified by an unusually large breakfast and the best sleep he'd had in weeks, Severus swooped into his classroom, privately relishing the moment when the cheerful smiles of the second year Gryffindors dissolved into various expressions of disappointment and trepidation. Clearly, they'd been expecting at least one more day under the indulgent tutelage of Dumbledore.

His good mood lasted until the first cauldron exploded, something that should've been impossible considering that the potion he'd assigned didn't even require the application of heat.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor!" he snapped at the terrified young boy.

It was going to be a very long ten years.


	8. The Neighbor

**The Neighbor**

Harry sat quietly inside the cupboard, his nose buried in a book featuring a mischievous looking cat on the cover, complete with a rather flamboyant red and white striped hat. The six-year-old had a small stack of similar volumes, but this one was his favorite; Lily loved listening to his delighted giggles whenever he reached a part he particularly enjoyed.

They added a splash of color to the otherwise cheerless atmosphere she'd shared with her son for the past five years, these books that had been dumped off on him following Dudley's insistence that it was stupid to sit around reading when the telly was so much more fun. Of course, Petunia had relented, as she always did when it came to her own child, shoving the various works of Dr. Seuss into the overcrowded cupboard when he demanded their immediate removal.

It was never easy, having to sit by and watch while one boy was lavished with attention, while the other was either criticized or simply ignored. And yet Harry still managed to smile, to laugh and take pleasure in even the smallest things, while Dudley usually walked around with a sour expression on his fat little face. Sometimes, when Lily was able to put her anger aside long enough to look at the situation objectively, she had to admit that in some ways, her own son almost had the better end of the deal.

... almost.

But the fact that Harry could find joy in something as simple as a butterfly, was able to laugh at the antics of a squirrel playing in the yard, couldn't change the fact that he deserved so much more than what he'd been given. She wouldn't have wanted him to be treated like Dudley, either, overindulged to the point of constant dissatisfaction, but a kind word, the occasional gift, perhaps a cake for his birthday... was that really too much for Petunia to manage?

Apparently so, but at least her sister wasn't quite so harsh with the boy when her husband wasn't around. Lily had quickly learned to dread the roar of the car pulling up in the driveway, the heavy, plodding footsteps coming up the walk, followed by the sharp click of a brass key turning in the lock. When Vernon walked through the door, it was open season... the rest of the night was inevitably filled with harsh insults and unjust punishments. At least Petunia ignored Harry for the most part when she was on her own; Vernon made him a constant target, encouraging his wife to do the same.

The only time Petunia ever intervened was when physical discipline was mentioned, always preventing the big brute of a man from ever actually striking her nephew. She justified it by appealing to Vernon's incessant paranoia - what would other people think if the bruises were ever discovered? That could have been the truth, or it might've had something to do with the warning Severus had delivered years before... but Lily preferred to believe there was at least some trace of mercy still left in her sister's seemingly frigid heart.

But even that wasn't enough to protect Harry from his vicious cousin, nor Vernon's repulsive sister Marjorie, who'd had the audacity to beat the poor boy across the shins with her walking stick a couple of years before. Lily had never wanted to cause someone bodily harm as much as she had when she'd seen her 4-year-old son curled up in his bed, rubbing the welts on his skinny little legs while struggling not to cry. She could've murdered Marge in cold blood at that moment, and laughed while she'd done it.

"Dinner!" Petunia bellowed, startling Lily from her thoughts.

With a heavy sigh, Harry set his book aside and rose to his feet, smoothing his hair down in a futile gesture reminiscent of his father before leaving the cupboard.

Lily crept through the tunnels of the baseboards, as she always did when Harry was not shut away beneath the stairs. Sometimes she wondered if she did it just to torture herself; after all, it wasn't as if she could put a stop to the rude jabs that were inevitably directed at him throughout the course of the evening meal. Perhaps she just hated feeling that he was alone in these moments, finding comfort in the silent support she offered, despite the fact that he was never aware of her presence.

Vernon was in an unusually good mood tonight, however, praising his wife for her exemplary pot roast before turning to his son to question in a cheerful voice whether or not he'd enjoyed school that day. He ignored Harry altogether, affording the boy a rare opportunity to eat in peace.

"Marge telephoned me at work today," he announced after a few minutes. "She's interested in making plans for the summer."

"Wonderful," Petunia responded pleasantly. "When is she intending to visit?"

"She's not. Was asking if we wanted to go on holiday with her - you, me, and Dudley, that is. She'll be visiting the seaside at the end of June, for two weeks, and would rather not go alone."

"Of course not, dear. But... well, what about _him_?"

Lily didn't need to see Petunia to imagine a bony finger being jabbed in Harry's direction.

Vernon let out a snort. "Why not just dump him off with Mrs. Figg? She's been offering to look after him for years, God knows why."

"She's a little strange," Petunia said thoughtfully. "All those cats..."

"Petunia, we haven't had a proper holiday in seven years. Poor Dudley here has never even been to the ocean, and all because we spend every summer looking after your sister's brat. Besides, who cares if she's weird? So is he!"

"I want to go!" Dudley suddenly whined, pounding a utensil on the table. "Harry ruins all my fun!"

"There, there, my pet," Petunia crooned in a soothing voice. "We won't let him spoil your holiday." To Vernon, she said, "I wasn't suggesting that we shouldn't go, merely making an observation. Shall I call Marge to confirm our plans?"

Vernon grunted in approval.

* * *

Two months later, Lily found herself in the bottom of Harry's knapsack, jostled back and forth as the little boy made the short walk over to the home where he'd be staying for the next fortnight. Following his timid knock, the door creaked open, followed by a thin, reedy voice that beckoned him to come inside.

"Up the stairs, Harry," said Mrs. Figg. "Second door on your right. Get yourself settled, and then come down to the kitchen. I'll... I'll give you something to eat. Looks like you could use it."

Her senses muffled by the thick canvas, Lily didn't smell it until Harry had taken several steps inside, though she cringed as soon as she recognized it for what it was. _Cats_. Lots of cats. Oh, Merlin, coming here had been a terrible mistake... and yet, what choice did she have? She wasn't about to leave her son with a stranger for two weeks, left to worry how he'd be treated or whether or not he'd be safe.

The knapsack was dumped rather carelessly on the bed, followed by faint noises that she assumed must be Harry poking around, before the door opened and then closed again with a soft click. Cautiously, she crawled up through the spare T-shirts and rolls of socks, poking her head out of a gap in the top of the bag.

Finding the room empty, she emerged the rest of the way to discover her somewhat shabby surroundings... a narrow bed, covered by a mismatched quilt, along with basic furniture crafted of cheap pressboard of varying shades. The bare wood of the floor was covered by rag rugs that had clearly seen better days, and on the walls...

Photographs of cats were everywhere, from tiny kittens, to creatures so large they appeared to be some sort of hybrid rather than ordinary house cats. They didn't just cover the walls either, but every flat surface in sight; the low bedside table held several in tarnished gilt frames, one of which prompted her to move closer, her beady little eyes widening in disbelief.

_Arabella?_

It didn't make sense at first... and then it made so much sense that she was amazed she hadn't thought of it sooner. Arabella, despite being a Squib, had been one of the most loyal members of the Order when Lily had known her. Though she'd been useless where the majority of their activities were concerned, Dumbledore had relied on her for the more mundane tasks the others were too preoccupied to deal with - paperwork, shopping, various research...

Looking after a little boy, perhaps?

She would've laughed if she'd had the ability to make a noise other than a squeak. Of course... _of course_ Dumbledore would have set someone nearby to look after Harry; it wasn't Arabella's fault that the Dursleys had refused all of her earlier attempts to invite him to her home. Oh, sweet Merlin... knowing that her child wasn't alone anymore, that people she trusted were still looking after him in some small way, brought Lily a great deal of relief.

Distracted by her realization, she never noticed the flap in the bottom of the door, nor the moment when it was pushed open to admit an overly large calico cat. She didn't see the feline stalking her, head low, ears flattened, just before it made a flying leap onto the bed. Squeaking in terror, she barely managed to scramble back into Harry's bag, burying herself deep within the tangle of clothing even as a giant paw reached inside to snag its claws in the fabric.

It snarled, no longer seeing her, but smelling her presence as she huddled there shivering, murmuring silent prayers to Merlin to make it go away.

"Tufty?" called a voice from downstairs. "Tufty, come down and meet young Harry Potter! I've been showing him lots of pictures of you!"

The cat wouldn't budge, refusing to give up its silent vigil for the next few hours. All Lily could do was wait, hoping like hell it would give up sooner or later. The room grew dark as day turned into night and it still didn't move, not stirring at all until footsteps came trudging up the stairs and into the bedroom, followed by Harry's tired, grumpy voice.

"Get out of here. I've seen enough cats to last me a lifetime."

Lily nodded her tiny head in emphatic agreement. Repulsive creatures, really, although she'd always liked them in her previous life.

"Don't want to leave, eh? Well, all right then. At least get off the bed. I just want to go to sleep."

The cat yowled in outrage as it was unceremoniously dumped onto the floor; Lily let out a sigh of relief, before she realized what Harry was about to do. _Oh no, Harry, don't..._her mind begged frantically, just before a grubby little hand plunged inside the bag and started pulling out various items of clothing in search of his pajamas. She tried to burrow deeper, fought to hold on, but before she knew it, she was clinging to a ball of socks that was tossed carelessly aside.

And then it was on her, trapping her tail beneath one of those massive paws with a malevolent gleam in its huge yellow eyes; completely oblivious, Harry pulled on a pair of ragged sweatpants as his mother stared into the face of certain death... again.

She couldn't bring herself to cower, staring into the creature's eyes in an attempt at intimidation that was downright ludicrous under the circumstances. The cat didn't move a muscle as it gazed back at her... and then it happened. A connection formed, wordless, as simple and primal as the earth itself, as she invaded Tufty's mind. She could feel it almost as if it were a tangible object, a hollow pocket that lay just beside the place where the animal's spirit resided, and a thrill shot through her quivering little body. She recognized it for what it was, for it was eerily similar to the space she'd occupied for the past five years.

It was the most nonsensical and yet utterly logical thing she'd ever done, willing herself to reach for it, to fill that empty hollow; drifting along upon a familiar wave of blackness for the briefest moment, she stopped with a jolt, then opened her eyes to a brand new existence.

And then she was staring down at herself as she'd been only a few seconds before, just a tiny mouse who really _was_ cowering now that it no longer had her foolhardy courage to bolster its resolve. Ignoring the overwhelming instinct to fall upon the little creature and devour it whole, she lifted her paw and watched it scamper away.

It took Lily a minute to adjust to her new form, sleek and powerful and so unlike the previous one. She stretched luxuriously, and then opened her mouth, vocalizing her approval in a loud meow. It was far from being a human sound, certainly not the body she longed to claim as her own once more... but it was a damn sight better than being a rodent who would've been killed on sight long ago if it hadn't been for an extreme amount of caution on her part. Smiling inside, she meowed again.

"Shut up, will you?" Harry complained, tossing a pillow in her direction that smacked her upside the head. She wanted to laugh in delight... he knew she was there. He was actually _speaking_ to her... not too kindly, and of course, he couldn't possibly know who she really was, but for the first time since Voldemort had invaded their home, she was no longer forced to hide from him.

Without further thought, she jumped back up on the bed where he was in the process of climbing beneath the covers. Oh, my, she was so strong now, closing the distance effortlessly and landing with perfect balance. She was nonplussed when Harry grumbled and shoved her right back off again, almost glad for another excuse to make one of those mighty leaps.

It took four or five attempts before he finally relented, flopping over with an exasperated sigh as she cuddled up beside him and started to purr. She hadn't even done it consciously - the warmth of him, the sound of his soft breathing pulled it out of her, an instinctive reaction that in her human form, would've emerged as a murmur of contentment, perhaps a whispered word of affection.

After a few minutes, she felt his hand slide over the top of her head, scratching her gently behind the ears as he cracked open one bleary eye and scowled down at her. "Wretched thing," he muttered in a groggy voice, just before he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

"Aha! Here he is!" Arabella Figg proclaimed the next morning, when Lily in the form of Tufty the cat dutifully followed Harry into the kitchen. "Where have you been all night, sweet boy? My, you must be hungry! You too, Harry. Go on over there and fix yourself a plate. We've got plenty more pictures to go through today."

Though the sound was too quiet for human ears to detect, Lily distinctly heard Harry let out a groan.

It should have been disgusting, the platter of strong smelling fish Mrs. Figg set before her after giving her the most heavenly scratch beneath her chin. She'd eaten nothing but baked goods for years now, repulsed by the odor of animal products to the point that they'd literally made her ill. But suddenly, the food she'd carefully avoided was the most appetizing thing in the world; she devoured the plateful of tuna as if she hadn't eaten in weeks.

For the rest of the day, she reclined upon the windowsill just behind Harry's head, dozing in the warm sunshine as she listened to the monotonous drone of the older woman's voice describing the lineage, personality, and basic traits of what must have been dozens of felines. Harry nodded off himself a few times; if Mrs. Figg noticed, however, she said nothing. That became the routine for the next two weeks - breakfast, cats, lunch, more cats, dinner, followed by a long talk about cats that went on late into the evening, until she finally took mercy on Harry and sent him off to bed.

Lily was surprised that her son allowed her to continue spending the night reclining on the pillow next to his head, realizing he must be growing to hate her current species after dealing with what was clearly nothing short of an obsession. But he didn't force her out, and after several days, stopped putting up even a token resistance when she followed him into the room. Perhaps it was simply because she was affectionate with him, purring loudly and bumping his nose whenever she could get away with it. After all, the boy wasn't exactly accustomed to loving gestures back in the Dursley household.

At least Arabella wasn't mean to him, ignoring the fact that her endless droning bored him to tears. She never criticized Harry, picked up after him and washed his clothes without complaint, and Lily even caught her watching him sometimes, her face soft and gentle, with a touch of sadness in her eyes. Her inability to keep the young boy entertained was obviously a matter of ignorance, not because she was actively trying to make him miserable.

Lily's life, on the other hand, was positively idyllic over the course of that fortnight. She began to crave monotony much in the way Harry obviously resented it, thrilled by the idea of spending her day doing nothing but eating, sleeping, and giving in to the inexplicable need to groom herself at regular intervals. She worried about the other cats at first, especially the ones who were larger than herself, but they seemed as lazy as she'd quickly become, content to ignore her as long as she extended the same courtesy.

Perhaps it was this easy complacency that kept her distracted from what would soon become a serious problem... an awful realization brought to light on the day Vernon Dursley appeared on Arabella's doorstep, stiffly informing her that he'd come to take the boy home.

Trying to follow in their footsteps was pointless, but she did it anyway, yowling in outrage as she was scooped up and cradled in a pair of surprisingly strong arms.

"Got quite attached to him, didn't you, Tufty?" Arabella cooed to the furious cat as she carried it back inside. "Don't worry... I'm sure he'll be back to visit soon enough."

And just like that, Lily was trapped.

* * *

**Author's Note:** _With the exception of the first chapter, you'll notice that I rarely, if ever, include author's notes in my stories. This isn't because I don't care - I just prefer to let the story speak for itself, and communicate with readers via PM._

_That being said, I wanted to reach out to you guys and express my sincere thanks for all the supportive feedback this story has been receiving. I will ALWAYS respond to every signed review I receive, even if it takes me a few days to get to it. For the guests, I'm sorry I have no way to reply directly, but please know that your feedback is equally appreciated, and goes a long way in motivating me to continue this story._

_If you don't see a lot of author's notes in future chapters, just please remember that I think you guys are amazing, and I can't wait to hear what you think of the story as it continues to unfold._

**PS - Everyone will be at Hogwarts within the next few chapters!** :)


	9. The Homecoming

**The Homecoming**

Lily hadn't been separated from Harry for more than a handful of hours since the day he'd been born, nor had she slept through a single night without the security of knowing he was in close proximity. Before Voldemort, she'd always woken up at least once or twice to check on her baby, lingering beside his crib just to caress his velvety cheek or listen to the sound of his slow, even breathing. And ever since, her diminutive size had allowed her to remain within a few feet of him at all times, with the recent exception of the mornings he spent at school.

Harry was the one constant in a world where everything else had gone mad, the only comfort that made her strange circumstances even remotely endurable. Without him, she simply had no idea how to exist.

Mrs. Figg was clearly at a loss as to why her formerly docile cat was behaving so strangely. The older woman had blocked numerous escape attempts over weeks, tutting to herself in consternation as she was forced to confine Tufty to the upper floor of the house and install various blockades to keep her under control. It was only when she threatened to send the cat to live elsewhere that Lily gave up her struggles to escape, ceased with the constant, plaintive meows, and stopped viciously clawing the furniture, terrified by the idea of an even more insurmountable separation.

Following that, there was nothing to do but stare morosely out the window in the little bedroom upstairs, worrying about her son and pondering all sorts of things which would've never even crossed her mind when she'd been human. Some of these thoughts were based upon the instinctive urges that fluttered around the edges of her consciousness, leading to the strangest daydreams about hunting, stalking, killing the tiny creatures she could always hear stirring in the foliage just outside the window. And of course, there were the inevitable comparisons between living as an animal and existence as the human she'd been before, nearly always leading to a deep and abiding appreciation for opposable thumbs.

Being a mouse had been easier in many ways - small enough to slip through just about any obstacle and completely self-reliant when it came to necessities such as food and water, she hadn't really known how it felt to be dependent upon a human to care for her most basic needs. Grooming, feeding, changing litter pans, even opening doors... she would've genuinely appreciated Arabella for these things if she hadn't spent so much time resenting the woman for inadvertently keeping her away from her son. Never having owned an animal beyond a largely self sufficient owl, Lily had never realized how much of a commitment taking care of more traditional pets actually required of a person.

And then one morning, she was perched in her usual spot, gazing out at the trees as the cheerful cadence of bird song tickled her ears, bringing on the involuntary twitches she had learned to ignore. She yawned and stretched beneath a brilliant beam of sunlight, eyes drifting closed as they so often did these days, whether she actually _wanted_ to sleep or not.

She was just dozing off when it happened; a robin alighted on the window sill, puffing out its fluffy red chest as it cocked its head and stared at her with one beady eye.

Human and feline instincts battled for dominance, the latter urging her to claw at the glass and snarl while the former insisted it was ridiculous to react to a harmless bird that way. Meanwhile, she studied the creature intently, mesmerized by the sudden, desperate curiosity that possessed her mind as she sought and immediately found what she was looking for. That place... that little hollow was there; did she have the ability to make another switch, and if so, was it possible to do so through the transparent barrier that separated her from the bird?

Drawing a deep breath, she focused and made the mental leap. And just like that, she was free.

* * *

The next few years were something of an improvement, at least in the sense that Lily learned how to use her newly discovered ability to maximum advantage. There was little she could do where the Dursleys were concerned, of course; their abominable treatment of her son was simply a fact of life she had to endure, albeit with a great deal of helpless anger. But in her own ways, at least, she couldn't help attempting to make Harry's childhood at least a little more bearable.

When she first returned to the household, it was in the form of a tiny brown spider she'd had to force herself not to eat when she'd alighted on the windowsill. She'd exposed herself in the little cupboard with a great deal of trepidation, uncertain whether Harry would smash her or recoil in horror. Instead, he'd looked at her with a crooked smile and greeted her as a friend.

Following that, changing forms was a simple matter of opportunity. When the boys were both eight years old, Dudley insisted on a new puppy, leaving Lily to enjoy several weeks of frolicking in the front yard with her son when no one else was paying attention. She couldn't even bring herself to mind Dudley's rough handling of his new pet, not when she was able to sneak downstairs and snuggle up beside Harry late at night, relishing his warmth as he murmured sleepily in the darkness.

Unfortunately, it soon became glaringly obvious which boy the puppy preferred, prompting a tantrum and an advertisement hastily placed in the local paper. When a younger man with a broad, friendly face showed up to pick up the little dog, Lily had already made her retreat.

There were other switches, of course. The revolting Aunt Marge continued to torment Harry whenever she paid a visit, but much to her chagrin, whatever vile bulldog she had chosen to bring along was no longer a threat as soon as Lily quietly possessed the creature. And while there wasn't much she could do about Dudley's bullying for the most part, she did manage to intervene here and there with some well-timed interference - a stinging wasp, a pigeon who defecated on the boy's head, anything that might permit Harry to make a quick escape.

All in all, their lives changed very little... until the day the first owl arrived.

* * *

Vernon was clearly delusional.

His reluctance to have any connection with the magical world he so despised was to be expected, but once it had been made clear just how determined some benevolent person was that Harry should receive his letter, one would have thought the man would've given up on his useless efforts to prevent it. But no... he'd brought his entire family to this miserable shack out in the middle of the ocean, with Lily in the guise of a shiny black beetle, positively seething with anger as she watched her little boy shiver on the cold, hard floor.

Didn't the fool realize he was only delaying the inevitable? And he'd bought a gun... a _gun_, for Merlin's sake! Didn't he realize how easily a proper Wizard could dispatch of his silly Muggle weapon?

Obviously not. He cradled the stick of metal and like a beloved child in his arms, until an obviously nervous Petunia encouraged him to set it aside and retire for the evening.

The loud, persistent knocking started just at midnight, the exact moment Harry turned eleven years old. Lily knew better than to be afraid, despite the way the entire structure shuddered beneath the onslaught. She could sense it somehow... the presence of someone safe and familiar lingering just on the other side of the flimsy door.

"Who's there?" Vernon bellowed. "I warn you - I'm armed!"

It was downright comical to witness the way the Dursleys reacted to Hagrid when he burst into the little shack; later, Lily would find a great deal of amusement in speculating upon which of the three hapless Muggles had seemed closest to wetting themselves as they'd stared at the enormous man. At the time, however, there'd been room for nothing but joy in her heart - the pleasure of seeing a beloved old friend, combined with the immense relief of knowing that finally, _finally_ Harry was on the verge of being welcomed into the world where he belonged.

Every word out of Hagrid's mouth was like a benediction, soothing her soul with his sincere outrage on Harry's behalf for all the things he'd never been told about himself. After so many years of being forced into silence, she could've easily wept as she listened to everything that had ever truly mattered being imparted to her child, who stared back at the old gamekeeper with a great deal of wonder and not a trace of fear in his eyes. And the way Hagrid called the Dursleys out, highlighting their shortcomings and castigating them for their ignorance? There wasn't a mean bone in his body, but by the same token, he'd always had a way of dispensing with unnecessary courtesies and getting right to the heart of a matter. Bless him.

As it was, Lily was grateful she happened to be in the form of an animal who was incapable of making noise during the confrontation. Otherwise she would've barked or squeaked or meowed in uncontrollable mirth in response to Hagrid's very astute observations on Dudley's massive weight. She'd been longing to point that one out for _years._

But as much as she was relieved by all the things Harry was being given a chance to learn about himself at last, the edge of pain that came with the experience could not be denied. Would there ever be a time when she'd be unaffected by hearing just how much her sister despised her? Even now, with Lily having been gone for a decade to the best of Petunia's knowledge, the jealousy and bitterness ran as deep as ever. To hear herself called a freak all over again, to remember the way she'd been constantly blamed simply for the way she'd been born... her heart should've been hardened to Petunia by now, especially considering the way she'd treated Harry over the years. Lily should hate her with every fiber of her being, not be left feeling sad and wistful over things that couldn't be changed.

Unfortunately, what _was_ and what _should be_ were often two different matters.

Hearing about her own death wasn't exactly easy either, but in a way, it was oddly comforting, too. Just to hear it explained by someone who'd truly known her, loved her, someone who understood the where Lily, James, and Harry Potter had come from and didn't shy away from talking about witches and wizards, Hogwarts and Dumbledore and even Voldemort somehow made her feel more grounded than she had since leaving Godric's Hollow. It was quite different from the existence she'd known for the past ten years, set adrift in a foreign world with nothing to anchor her beyond her love for her son... a child who'd also been deprived of nearly everything he should have been able to cling to.

Well, that dark time of secrecy and separation was finally over. And even though she was no more capable of speech than she'd been an hour before, Lily felt as if her long silence had finally ended.

* * *

Professor Snape sat stiffly in his chair at the High Table, muttering noncommittal responses to Quirrell's nervous questions. Another deplorable excuse for a Defense against the Dark Arts professor - he had no doubt about that, despite never actually having seen the man teach the subject.

Passed over yet again - after ten years, Severus wasn't sure why he even bothered applying for the position anymore. Maybe it was nothing more than sheer obstinance, combined with the full knowledge that he was more qualified than just about anyone to teach the course. That much was evident in Dumbledore's eyes each time he rejected another application, always a twinge of regret in his voice when he'd say, "I'm sorry, Severus. I've already given the position to someone else."

Did he continue to do it for that pathetically small amount of validation, knowing that both himself and Dumbledore were quite aware that whomever came along to take his place would be far less worthy of the position? If so, his dignity would never allow him to admit it, nor could he acknowledge the tiny measure of hope he still felt each time he submitted his request. He'd simply carry on as he'd always done, spending next summer and the one after that methodically preparing for another rejection.

In the meantime, another year had begun, carrying with it the promise of countless melted cauldrons, the gross misuse of thousands of Galleons worth of precious ingredients, along with the continuing outrage of being forced to watch a passel of careless brats make a mockery of the delicate art of potion making. Severus closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose - he was worn out already, eager for the school year to be over before the first lesson had even begun.

It wasn't that he believed Defense against the Dark Arts would be much more tolerable; interacting with children had never been his forte no matter what topic he was dealing with. But the difference was in feeling as if he were working toward the end result in the war to come - the idea of training future fighters to survive through the first five seconds of a duel seemed like a much more proactive way to spend his time than being locked away in the dungeon, instructing a bunch of snot nosed teenagers on brewing sleeping potions and cures for boils. And while it was true that some potions would be crucial in the war effort, very few of those were taught to students before their sixth year - everything before that seemed like a tremendous waste of time.

But in this, as with so many things, Severus had little choice but to grit his teeth and suffer through it somehow.

"...d-d-don't you think?"

"Mmm," he grunted at Quirrell, not sparing so much as a glance for the quivering fool who was struggling to get his attention. His eyes were fixed on the doorway, narrowing in concentration as the first year students shuffled hesitantly into the hall.

There were some he recognized, not by their own merits, but through the uncanny resemblance they bore to their parents. Malfoy's son was the spitting image of his father, and even though Severus hadn't seen him in several years, he could've picked him out of a crowd of thousands. Crabbe and Goyle's corpulent offspring were hard to miss, and the little Parkinson girl so closely resembled her mother that he had to squint in order to see any difference at all.

The youngest Weasley boy was unmistakable, with that garish red hair and a smattering of freckles on his rather impudent looking face. And beside him...

Severus felt as if his insides were being twisted, crumpled into a ball only to be stretched out and wadded up all over again as he stared at the visage of a young James Potter. The years melted away like snow beneath a blazing summer sun, his body automatically growing tense in anticipation of some cruel hex being thrown his way. It was as if the decade of numb stoicism had never existed at all, ten years of slowly, painfully overcoming the insecurities of his youth destroyed in a matter of seconds by a single glance at that hated face.

How many lies that he told himself in preparation for this moment? Perhaps Harry would look nothing like his father, resembling some distant relative that would have no effect on Severus whatsoever. Or maybe he'd take after his mother, painful to look upon that sweet face when it didn't belong to her anymore, but welcome in the sense of being a constant reminder of what he was fighting for. Some strange part of him had spent years hoping Lily's strongest qualities would be carried on in her offspring, dominant enough that he'd be able to forget the man who'd sired the boy. He could've tolerated Lily Evans' son if he'd been allowed to make that separation, perhaps even grown fond of him in his own quiet way.

He'd spent so much time hoping for such an outcome, in fact, that he'd _almost_ convinced himself things would work out in his favor.

But no, he wasn't to be so lucky... not that he ever was, of course. _This_ was what he _should_ have expected if life had taught him anything - the very image of James Potter, risen from the grave to taunt him with a hundred different memories of pain, failure, heartbreak, and humiliation. And just like the arrogant slime who'd fathered him, Harry Potter glanced up at Severus, then _winced_, his face scrunching up as if he were about to be sick before he jerked his eyes away.

_"Why don't you wash your hair, you disgusting git?"_

_"Can't you smell yourself with a nose that big, Snivellus?"_

_"Don't touch him, Padfoot! Looks like he's carrying about twenty different diseases, and I don't want to miss Quidditch because I had to haul you off to the hospital wing."_

_"Don't worry, Prongs. There's no way Lily Evans would ever shag someone like that."_

_"Then why does she talk to him at all?"_

_"Feels sorry for him, most like. Girls are just that way sometimes. Not enough to make them drop their knickers though, you can be sure of that. Old Snivy will probably be a virgin for the rest of his life, unless he drugs some poor bird with one of his potions or something."_

_"You don't think he'd do that to Lily...?"_

_"Not if we hex his shriveled little bollocks off. We'd be doing the world a favor if you ask me."_

Of course, James Potter's son never spoke a word. He didn't have to - it was all there in his reaction, painfully obvious that he was repulsed by just the briefest glimpse of the man who was meant to be his teacher and protector. Every bit of pain Severus had suffered at the hands of the cocky youth who'd looked and acted _just like that_ came rushing back to him in that moment, and suddenly, any difference he might've picked up on between father and son, any chance he might have withheld judgment until he knew a little more about Harry blew away like so much dust.

There was no need to hesitate before making up his mind - he _hated_ the boy.

* * *

**Author's Note**: _I sincerely apologize that this chapter has been delayed. On top of an unusual amount of extra work these past couple of weeks, this has been the most difficult chapter I've written so far. I know exactly where I want to go with this story, but setting the pacing has been a bit of a challenge - in the end, I decided to summarize the rest of Lily's experience pre-Hogwarts, as there really isn't much she can do about her situation outside of the magical world._

_Where I'll be going from here is the part of the story I've been excited about since before I even started, so expect more regular updates from now on. I can't wait to hear what you guys think as this all unfolds. :)_

_As always, thank you so much for your continued support._


	10. The Grudge

**The Grudge**

Lily figured out one thing very quickly - life at Hogwarts was going to be infinitely more challenging than it had been in the little house on Privet Drive.

It started before even arriving at the castle, despite the fact that being able to inhabit one of the dormice in Hagrid's oversized pocket during the trip to Diagon Alley had seemed like a lucky break at the time. Unfortunately, she hadn't realized that her son was about to be put on a train to go back to the Dursleys until it had been too late to do anything about it.

If only that damned owl hadn't been asleep, preventing the eye contact she'd needed in order to switch bodies, there wouldn't have been an issue. As it was, her only choice had been to scamper out of Hagrid's pocket in the hope of being smuggled away inside of one of Harry's new packages, cursing herself all the while for her lack of forethought. Unfortunately, her benevolent captor had been far too observant to allow for an undetected escape.

"Where yeh goin' in such a hurry?" he'd said with a chuckle, as he'd enclosed her in one giant fist and stuffed her back in his pocket. "It's back to Hogwarts with us!"

And then there'd been nothing to do but wish Harry a silent, rather desperate farewell, trying to find comfort in the reassurance that he'd be joining her in only a few short weeks.

* * *

One advantage of life around Hagrid's hut was that there was no shortage of creatures at her disposal. She immediately went from life as a dormouse to inhabiting Fang, spending a few days as the oversized boarhound before growing restless and taking advantage of a walk outside to transfer herself to a little brown wren. From there she'd made a foray into the Forbidden Forest, thrilled by the opportunity to test the full limits of her capabilities. Ordinary creatures proved to be no challenge at all - deer and rabbits, birds and squirrels, even the tiny insects that inhabited the lush undergrowth were hers for the taking. Lily tried each one in turn, weighing the positives and negatives of each as she contemplated which animals might give her the easiest access to her son throughout the school year.

It was only when she encountered purely magical creatures - centaurs, unicorns and the like, that she ran up against any obstacle. For whatever reason, the little hollow she'd become intimately familiar with during her various transfers simply didn't exist inside them, just as she'd never been able to find it in anyone human.

After a while, she found herself sticking almost exclusively to birds, thrilling to the freedom of flight and the ability to travel long distances so easily. From the castle to Hogsmeade, across the lake and back to the forest, she relished the opportunity to explore the familiar places of her childhood from an entirely different point of view. The experience was so intoxicating, in fact, that it came as a surprise when she saw the Hogwarts Express pull into the station and realized the day of Harry's arrival had finally come.

She spotted him immediately, aided the sharp eyes of the falcon she'd been inhabiting; by the time he reached the door of the castle, she was a tiny spider once more, clinging to the bottom of his robes as Professor McGonagall made her patented first year speech and he shuffled hesitantly into the Great Hall along with the other new students.

There wasn't much to see from her vantage point other than countless pairs of feet, of course, but she heard everything that was going on around her. Harry had made a friend, it seemed, and she inwardly praised him for choosing a Weasley - Ron had to be Arthur and Molly's child, and if that were the case, she had no doubt the boy would be just as kindhearted and loyal as the smiling young couple she remembered so well.

Harry was nervous as the Sorting Hat trilled out its yearly song; she could feel him trembling as his name was called and he rose to his feet. What she wouldn't have given in that moment to be able to say, "You're all right, love. You were born to be a Gryffindor." She was so certain of it, in fact, that it didn't even cross her mind that he could possibly be Sorted elsewhere.

"GRYFFINDOR!"

And then she smiled inside as the announcement was met with a mighty cheer. Yes, at long last, Harry was exactly where he was meant to be.

She was so content in the aftermath that she nestled more deeply into the fold of Harry's robe and fell asleep right then and there, completely unperturbed by the chatter and loud clanking of dishes all around her. It was only when he rose to his feet, forcing her to scrabble for purchase on the top of his shoe that she became aware of her surroundings again, feeling a thrill of anticipation as she realized they had to be heading to Gryffindor Tower.

Countless memories assaulted her as they made their way up the stairs, the first year students muttering among themselves as an older boy announced the password and the portrait swung open. How many times had she passed through this hole into the familiar common room, nearly always surrounded by a group of chattering friends? They came to life once again in her mind - James and Sirius, Remus and Peter, Frank and Alice and Marlene. How young they'd been during their time at Hogwarts, completely unaware that their worlds would be torn apart in only a few short years. So much senseless loss... how many of the people she'd known, the cherished friends who'd once filled this room with light and laughter, were even still alive?

Lily tried to push the dismal thought from her mind, reminding herself that it was Harry's turn to shine. He'd be safe here, in the company of those who'd accept him for who he truly was as he learned to master his abilities. It was exactly what she'd always wanted for him, the distant dream that had carried her through all those miserable, frustrating years of being forced to live with her sister and that deplorable husband of hers. By all rights, she should've been thrilled in this moment... so why did she feel like crying?

But the answer to that question soon became obvious as she scuttled under the bed and listened to the boyish chatter all around her trail off into sleepy mutterings and soft snores. Harry might be a part of this world now, but she was not. There would be no joyous reunions with former professors, no excited letters describing how well her son was adjusting to his new school. She might be here in the most technical sense, but she was so far removed from everything Hogwarts had ever meant to her that it suddenly seemed like a cruel mockery that she'd decided to come here at all. The magic flowed through her like water, as steady and strong as it had ever been within these walls, and yet it was no longer a part of her. She felt the separation deep in her soul, so heavy and palpable that it made itself known as nothing short of physical pain.

So much had been taken from her - friends and loved ones, a marriage and a home, the ability to interact with her son like a mother, her physical form and identity and everything in between. She'd mourned them all so frequently throughout the years that the absence of magic in her world had rarely even crossed her mind. Now it hit her like a Stunner to the chest, the idea of existing without her former abilities in a place that thrived upon magic making her feel helpless on an entirely different level. She wanted to cry, to scream, to rage at the unfairness of it all; unfortunately, even the ability to express those feelings properly had been stolen on that fateful night Voldemort had pointed his wand in her direction. Bastard... fucking bastard.

_My loss is Harry's gain,_ she reminded herself sternly, pushing her grief aside as she capitulated to the instinctive need to spin a web and catch her supper. _I might not be here as I'd like to be... but at least I'm here. And more importantly, so is he._

* * *

Lily attended all of Harry's classes with him throughout his first week, curious to see how he'd adjust to the curriculum. It would not be a frequent occurrence, she quickly decided, after dozing through one of Professor Binns' mind numbingly boring lectures. There was no reason to believe that Harry wouldn't be perfectly fine on his own during school hours, and the frustration of sitting through Charms and Transfiguration without a wand in her hand was difficult to tolerate for long. Even so, it was comforting to learn that the majority of the teachers were the same professors she'd known and trusted, with the exception of yet another barely competent Defense against the Dark Arts instructor. Well, that too was soothing in its familiarity.

It was only when she attended Potions with her son that she received her first real surprise.

Disguised as the smallest spider she'd been able to find, she was hidden in the crease of Harry's collar when the tall, black clad figure came billowing into the dungeon classroom, slamming the door behind him with a resounding thud. Having expected one of Professor Slughorn's cheerful greetings, she could only stare in disbelief at her former best friend as he snatched up a bit of parchment from the desk and began taking the roll call.

The years had changed Severus more than she might have expected, deep lines etched into the already harsh profile she'd once known so well. His voice was deeper, more resonant, and so much colder than she remembered as he glanced up briefly between each name to confirm that the student in question was present. There was no trace of emotion in his fathomless black eyes, a world of depth and feeling now replaced by something flat, hard and unyielding.

No, that was all wrong - the Severus she had known had given everything away through his eyes, whether he meant to do so or not. It was in his eyes that she'd discovered his vulnerability, his eagerness to please, the fact that he really did have a heart, even if he were too afraid to express the more gentle side of his nature to the rest of the world. Without that...

It was no wonder the students looked terrified; in the absence of that hint of softness, his intimidating presence seemed to cause the temperature in the already chilly dungeon to drop by a few degrees. What had happened to cause such a drastic change in him?

"Ah, yes," he suddenly said, his tone taking on a bitter edge. "Harry Potter. Our new - _celebrity._"

Lily frowned inwardly, struggling with several points of curiosity. First, why was Severus teaching at Hogwarts, when he'd always told her that when he grew up, he had no intention of ever dealing with children again? True, he'd always been genius at Potions... but shouldn't that have guaranteed a job that would've been better suited to him? And beyond that, the majority of parents surely wouldn't have wanted their children being taught by a former Death Eater. Was this confirmation that Severus had never actually gone over to the dark side? She'd wondered about that many times over the years, after having witnessed his peculiar behavior following Voldemort's fall. Was the proof of his true loyalties standing right in front of her?

Most importantly, why was the man who'd shown up on Petunia's front porch threatening dire retribution if Harry came to any harm now glaring at the boy as if he wanted nothing more than to throw a nasty hex in his direction?

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making. As there is little foolish wand waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Everyone in the room was spellbound by Professor Snape's speech, and Lily was no exception. She stared at him in awe, appreciating the full flower of qualities she'd only caught a glimpse of in their youth. This was Severus when he'd forgotten himself for a moment, self-consciousness and insecurity melting away in the face of whatever subject matter had temporarily fascinated him. It was a single-minded intensity that had both frightened and mesmerized her as a girl, and now... this wasn't some brief spell he'd snap out of when he remembered there were eyes upon him. This was the essence of the man he'd grown up to be.

She couldn't decide exactly how she felt about that quite yet.

"Potter!" he suddenly snapped, and the entire room seemed to jump. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

_A potion he's not even supposed to be learning until sixth year,_ Lily thought to herself with a sudden flash of annoyance. _What are you trying to prove, Severus?_

"I don't know, sir," Harry admitted quietly, which brought on a sneer and a snide remark.

She was absolutely baffled by the end of class - baffled and furious. At first she'd wanted to believe that Severus was simply a demanding teacher... but the way he'd singled Harry out throughout the entire lesson, mocking him and deducting points for the most ridiculous reasons made it clear that he specifically held a grudge against her son. Why? What could Harry have possibly done to infuriate him so much, when to the best of her knowledge, they'd never even spoken before?

Intent on figuring out the enigma of an adult Severus with a bone to pick, she barely even registered the moment Harry rose to his feet and reached up to adjust his collar. She fell to the floor where she lay dazed from the unexpected impact, before she was forced to scramble out of the way to avoid being squashed by the hastily retreating students. And then there was nothing to be done about it - Harry was gone and meanwhile, she was left alone with the bewildering man who was currently pacing back and forth behind his desk, muttering a barely distinguishable litany of curses as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

What was she supposed to do now? There was no way she could hope to make it all the way back to Gryffindor Tower on her own in her current form, and the only other animals in the room were specimens suspended in a variety of sickly colored fluids. _Nice touch, Snape,_ she thought sarcastically as she scaled one wall and ended up beside what was obviously a pickled pig's fetus. _Very creepy._

But even stronger than irritation was an insatiable curiosity; while she could have attached herself to one of the Gryffindor third years who attended class later that afternoon, she elected to stay where she was for the time being. There was something to be discovered here, an unexpected mystery she was determined to get to the bottom of somehow. And so she latched onto the top of Severus' boot when he finally dismissed the last class of the day and exited the room, overwhelmed by a sudden wave of nervous anticipation when she realized they were headed straight for the Headmaster's office.

* * *

"Ah, Severus! Come in. Would you like some tea? Or perhaps I might tempt you with a bit of toffee?"

"Tea would be acceptable," he replied politely, if a little stiffly. "Thank you."

"Two sugars?"

"Indeed."

Over the years, Severus had come to enjoy these little moments of respite in Dumbledore's office, although he'd rather suffer under an extended Cruciatus than admit it aloud. He'd always respected the man as a great Wizard, of course, even when he'd opposed him during his time as a Death Eater. But throughout the decade he'd been teaching at Hogwarts, they'd formed... well, not a friendship exactly, but a comfortable companionship that was infinitely soothing after a long day of dealing with mangled ingredients and exploding cauldrons.

To his initial surprise, Dumbledore had never taken him to task for his harsh teaching methods, something he'd often feared in the beginning. Instead, their meetings had generally focused on Severus himself, with a great deal of time devoted to preparations for his future as Harry Potter's protector and chief spy for the Order.

The long hours of training had been a welcome solace in what had promised to be interminable years of uselessness before the boy finally came of age - he could actually feel as if he were moving closer to his goal when concentrating on increasing his skills as an Occlumens or listening to Dumbledore theorizing as to the possible means of Voldemort's return. It made it feel like an immediate reality, not some distant possibility that might never come to pass. Had it been the latter, Severus was quite certain he wouldn't have been able to maintain the necessary determination to see his promise through to its conclusion.

Dumbledore must have understood that on some level, for Severus had already been an exceptional Wizard before their lessons had even begun and they both knew it. Much of what they covered - dueling techniques and defensive strategies, basic healing and textbook Legilimency - was so far beneath his skill level that he could have performed it quite adequately in his sleep. But they both clung to the façade nonetheless, perhaps both needing to feel as if they were doing something useful during the long years of waiting for the opportunity to take action once again.

Despite the frequent simplicity, however, Severus was still able to learn a great deal from the old headmaster - new spells and little-known theories that might indeed come in useful someday. But what Dumbledore taught him more than anything else was the art of patience.

In the beginning, he'd chafed at their leisurely encounters, silently willing the other man to sip his fucking tea a little faster and get to the point of why he'd been summoned. But now, he welcomed the stillness, the quiet companionship that lingered between them in the interim - sometimes the most important things were communicated without words, a truth he'd never been able to fully appreciate in the past. The way Dumbledore conducted their meetings spoke of trust, respect... perhaps even a little fondness?

Whatever it was, Severus found it more than tolerable, something that couldn't be said for many of the interactions he'd had since returning to Hogwarts as a professor. True, the other teachers had warmed to him over the years, but that had been a slow, often painful process, and he still had his doubts as to how they might react to him when the Dark Lord became an immediate threat once again. Having no awareness of his fiercely guarded reasons for turning to the side of the Light, would they be able to put their trust in him? Or would it revert right back to the suspicious glances and whispered rumors he'd had to cope with in the beginning?

Perhaps that was why, while he genuinely respected most of his colleagues, he was always extremely careful to hold himself aloof from anything beyond politely professional relationships with them. Only Dumbledore knew the truth, the sole person who he could rely upon to maintain faith in him if everything else went to hell, and he simply wasn't willing to risk the crushing disappointment that would come from allowing himself to become close with anyone else. It was far safer to maintain focus and do his best not to care about anything beyond achieving his goal.

It was a hellish, incredibly lonely way to live, and not always entirely successful - easy enough to forget himself for a moment in the midst of a friendly chess match with Minerva, or in the face of Poppy's genuine concern for his well-being. But he'd always catch himself in time to withdraw, with a caustic attitude that had long ago begun to feel much more natural than saying something kind. Indeed, Severus wasn't sure he'd be able to mend his ways at this point, even if he'd wanted to.

No, it was all for the best... letting down his guard at any level was something he simply couldn't afford to do outside of present company. And deep inside, beyond all the little resentments he still felt for the man sometimes, he couldn't help a rush of gratitude toward the one person he had left to remind him that he was still human. Annoyingly cheerful, infuriatingly cryptic... well, a lot of things could be forgiven, or at least ignored, when it came to the only person you could count on to be in your corner.

"So..." Dumbledore said, interrupting Severus' thoughts as he leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. "How was your first week?"

Severus snorted. "Abysmal, as usual. Isn't that question a little redundant by now?"

"Not when Harry Potter has at last come to Hogwarts."

Oh, so that's what the old man had summoned him to discuss. He should have known.

"Fair enough," Severus said after a heavy sigh. "How about more abysmal than usual then? Exceedingly so."

Dumbledore studied him carefully. "You don't like the boy?"

"Do I like any of my students?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I think you do. You're certainly devoted to your Slytherins, loath as you might be to admit it in those terms. And unless I'm mistaken, you were downright proud of that Ravenclaw girl who went on to work for St. Mungo's a couple years ago. I heard you wrote her a glowing recommendation to help secure the job. And what about...?"

Severus shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Recognizing talent, such a rare commodity in my class, is something quite different than personal inclination. And as for the Slytherins..."

Dumbledore held up a hand, his lips quirked in an infuriating smile. "No need to get defensive, Severus. Let's just get back to the subject at hand. What is it that you find so distasteful about young Harry?"

"Everything."

"Everything?" the old Wizard stared at him thoughtfully. "From what I understand, he's been doing quite well in his other classes. I certainly haven't heard any other complaints where he's concerned."

"He's..." Severus faltered, scowling deeply as he searched for an answer that wouldn't practically scream, ' He's too much like James Fucking Potter in every possible way. I can't even look at him without...'

"Well, nevermind," Dumbledore interrupted with a cheerful smile, as a visitor was announced by a sharp rap at the door. "Perhaps you'll warm up to him in time. In the meantime, I just wanted to be sure that your personal feelings won't interfere with what you've promised to do. It's not that I doubt you, Severus, but now that you're in a position where you're faced with Harry each and every day..."

Severus rose from his chair, fixing the other man with a hard look. "I swore to protect him for Lily's sake, not his own. How I feel about the boy is irrelevant, which is fortunate, as it is unlikely to change."

Dumbledore sighed. "Fair enough. Have a good weekend, Severus."

With a curt nod, Severus turned to go, pulling the door open and giving Minerva a wan smile as he squeezed past her onto the staircase. She looked him up and down with that penetrating gaze that made him feel more than a little uncomfortable whenever she caught him the least bit off guard. It was uncanny how Animagi seemed to take on the abilities of whatever animal they transformed into, even in their human form. The Transfiguration professor, much like a tabby cat, didn't miss even the slightest flicker of movement in her general vicinity.

She proved it now, calling after him, "Severus? There's a spider on your shoe."

Seeing that she was right, he bent down and plucked the little arachnid off his boot. His first impulse was to smash it, but upon closer inspection, he realized it was a Walnut Orb-weaver and conjured a tiny vial in which to hold it instead. Though a fairly common species, it was one of the few he'd never gotten around to examining as a potential source of Potions ingredients.

Tucking it away in the pocket of his robes, he made his way through the castle and down to the dungeons, relieved that no one stopped to speak with him along the way. The only thing he wanted to do was reach his quarters and down a healthy dose of Dreamless Sleep, praying to Merlin that it would be enough to chase away the nightmares that had haunted him since the moment the boy had crossed the threshold into Hogwarts.

Severus could make the separation during his waking hours, at least on a rational level; he was able to recall all the years that separated him from his childhood tormentors, even if those memories were a little more vivid than they'd been before Potter's arrival. But when he fell asleep at night, helpless to the cruel whims of his subconscious, faces melded together so seamlessly that it was impossible to tell them apart. Harry was suddenly James himself, taunting him cruelly as he highlighted every flaw Severus had ever hated about himself. The Weasley boy melted into Sirius Black, that carefree smile disguising a sinister intention to hex him as soon as his back was turned. And Neville... well, who else could he be but the hopelessly incompetent Peter Pettigrew?

Hermione didn't trouble him at first, though that all changed a couple months later when she solidified her friendship with the other Gryffindors. After that, she was a wild-card in his dreams... sometimes she became Remus Lupin, harmless and even reasonably intelligent on her own, yet willing to turn a blind eye wherever her friends were concerned. But worse than that even was when a head of bushy hair and a pair of large brown eyes faded into a beautiful visage of Lily, choosing to keep company with his tormentors rather than give him another chance.

Severus couldn't take the potion every night - like most substances, magical or otherwise, it was highly addictive with extended use. He limited himself to weekends only, taking to roaming the corridors well into the wee hours on the other nights, at least until his body was simply too exhausted to remain conscious any longer. It became a pattern during that first year - a couple hours of fitful, nightmare ridden tossing and turning on weeknights, followed by sleeping like the dead on Saturdays and Sundays.

If anyone noticed the ever darkening circles under his eyes or that his moods were even more unpredictable than usual, they said nothing. And so Severus carried on as usual, with the exception of the sharp eye he kept on Potter and his companions as he struggled to protect the unwitting source of his nightly torment.

"It will all be over soon," he reassured himself, as he became increasingly convinced that his former master was behind the sinister changes in the formerly innocuous Professor Quirrell. "It will all be over soon."


	11. The Awakening

**The Awakening**

Cloaked in blackness in Severus' pocket, Lily rocked back and forth and rhythm with his fluid stride for what seemed like hours as they descended through the castle. She had no idea where he was taking her, but if he'd chosen capture over brushing her off or smashing her beneath the heel of his boot, that could only mean one thing... assuming she was indeed a spider, he must want to test her viability for Potions ingredients.

Terrified, she used her eight spindly legs to push against the sturdy rubber stopper of the vial, but it was no use. She was well and truly trapped. What if there were no opportunity to switch to another creature when they arrived at their destination? Would she die tonight, without anyone ever knowing that she'd survived a good ten years since they'd assumed she'd been murdered by Voldemort?

But when he pulled her out into the light, Severus merely set the vial on a table and stepped away, shedding clothes as he went. They were in some sort of sitting room as far as Lily could tell, with a pair of doors on the opposite wall that lay open to reveal a bedroom and a small bathroom. These must be his private quarters then; strange that she'd spent seven years at Hogwarts as a student without having the faintest idea where the professors actually slept. She'd grown to view teachers like McGonagall and Flitwick as family, and yet it suddenly struck her that she'd known almost nothing about them... whether or not they were married, where they spent their summers, or much of anything beyond what she'd seen in the classroom.

It seemed like such a waste now, thinking back on all the things she'd taken for granted in her youth. Why had it never occurred to her to learn more about the people she'd loved when it would've been so easy for her to do so?

At the moment, however, the man undressing right in front of her was swiftly becoming an unavoidable distraction from her maudlin thoughts. His outer robes came off first, followed by his heavy frock coat and boots and socks. He stood before her in a snowy white undershirt, unfastening the buttons at each wrist before moving his hands up to his collar. It was then she realized that she'd never actually seen Severus naked - an unfortunate flash of graying underpants once, but that was all. Whether it had been due to self-consciousness or just a naturally modest nature, he'd never so much as taken his shirt off whenever she was around.

He didn't show a trace of modesty now, though to be fair, he also had no reason to believe he wasn't alone. The shirt fell apart to reveal a pale sliver of bare chest, before he shrugged it off of his shoulders and draped it over a nearby chair. Ignoring the tiny voice in her head that said she should look away, Lily inspected him closely, unable to resist the urge to satisfy her curiosity. Severus was quite different from James, who'd had the sturdy physique of an athlete, but there was plenty of strength in the lean, graceful lines of his body as reflected in the candlelight. Surprisingly, he wasn't a man anyone could describe as scrawny - from the subtle ridges on his flat abdomen to the firmness in his arms and shoulders, he was all muscle and sinew, not skin and bones as she always assumed. Slender, perhaps too much so, but strangely powerful nonetheless.

She'd just begun to study the light dusting of fine black hair upon his chest, her eyes following the trail that disappeared into his trousers, when he suddenly turned around, an action that would've caused her to gasp aloud if she'd had the ability to do so. The scars... there must have been a dozen of them, silvery white ridges that stood out in sharp relief against the smooth contours of his back. It appeared as if he'd been viciously whipped, and on more than one occasion. Had his father done that to him? She'd always suspected that quite a lot of abuse went on in the Snape household, though Severus had refused to confirm her suspicions whenever she'd dared to speak them aloud. What could he have possibly done to deserve...?

But then she lost her train of thought as he unfastened in his trousers and let them fall to the floor. There was no show of dingy underpants this time, only an oddly appealing flash of bare backside as he leaned over right in front of her to pick up the remainder of his clothing.

_Look away, Lily!_ she chided herself, feeling like the worst sort of voyeur for invading upon such private moment. But it was as if she were frozen in place as he turned around and walked over to the table where she sat watching in her little glass vial. He was looking for something - she gathered that much on some distant level, despite the fact that the one part of him she'd never expected to see was now only a few inches from her face.

It was _huge_! There was no way of ascertaining whether she was proportionally correct in that conclusion, or if it only seemed that way due to her tiny size - all Lily knew was that her entire line of vision was suddenly dominated by penis, surrounded by a thatch of thick black hair. She was mortified, but not to the extent that she could bring herself to avert her eyes, or close them, or do anything aside from stare in rapt fascination. Despite herself, the sight of all that naked flesh brought on a whole new onslaught of questions - did he ever use it, and if so, with whom? What kind of lover was he? Was he quick and to the point about it as James had been? Or was he like the men she'd read about in the romance novels Marlene had kept hidden in her trunk during their school years, slow and thorough until he was certain a woman was satisfied?

_Shame on you, Lily!_ She tried to force her thoughts in a less explicit direction, then surrendered with a sigh of defeat as Severus turned and stalked away, entering the bathroom and stepping into the shower without bothering to close the door. It wasn't her fault, not really. She was only human, and though physical cravings weren't an issue in her current form, the emotional longing was always there. Was it really so wrong that her mind wandered down these paths in a situation where it was impossible to avoid them anyway? After all, it had been a _very_ long time.

But Severus? She'd never thought about him that way before. He'd been her best friend, not someone she could have ever possibly...

But she couldn't finish the thought that had given her so much reassurance in the past. The emotions she'd felt toward him as a teenager had been as bewildering as they were intense, especially near the end of their friendship. And while she'd never knowingly placed him in that category, she could no longer deny that there'd been incidents that were difficult to justify as anything other than attraction. What other explanation could there be for the oddly pleasant fluttering she'd felt in her stomach when he'd gazed at her from across the Great Hall, or the way she'd asked him for answers to homework questions she'd already known, just to have an excuse to listen to the silky timbre of his voice for just a little longer?

Was that the real reason it had hurt so much when she'd felt forced to sever their friendship? After all, if she'd been falling in love with him at the time, hearing him shout the word "Mudblood" in her direction would've been the cruelest possible reminder that there was no way in hell they could ever be together. It had been painful enough even when it had only seemed to be a slur against their friendship, evidence of the way he'd changed through the influence of his so-called friends. But what if it had also shattered the fragile romantic hopes she hadn't even been ready to acknowledge at the time?

There was no way to know for sure, and it was all water under the bridge in any case. The past was dead and gone - what she was feeling now must be nothing more than a natural reaction to her long years of celibacy, stirrings caused by nothing more than being in the presence of a naked and reasonably attractive man. It couldn't be Severus himself, nor the reawakening of whatever she might have felt for him half a lifetime ago. To think she might want _Severus_... that was just laughable. She wasn't even technically _human_, for Merlin's sake, certainly not capable of acting on any sexual impulses she might feel toward another person.

Beyond that, she had a whole mess of confusion to deal with after witnessing his behavior in class earlier that day; those thoughts might be pushed to the back of her mind at the moment, but the fact remained that the man silhouetted upon the shower curtain was someone she wasn't even sure she knew anymore. How could she possibly...?

And then all rational thought fell to the wayside as a low groan emerged from the bathroom, the sound somewhat distorted by the walls of her tiny glass prison. Lily raised her eyes in alarm, shocked to see the shadow of Severus leaning slightly forward with his forehead resting on the hand that was braced against the shower wall. For a frightening moment, she wondered if he were hurt or ill, before her gaze drifted lower and realized what he was doing.

Back and forth, back and forth... the rhythm was hypnotizing, as were the soft grunts and ragged breaths that rose above the sound of running water.

"Mmmm..."

If Lily had been in her previous body, she was quite certain she'd be blushing to the roots of her hair.

"Fuck."

She couldn't look away - not when his hips began to move, thrusting forward to meet the pumping of the tightly clenched fist that was moving faster, faster, so swiftly that it became nothing more than a shadowed blur in her line of vision. _Close your eyes, Lily. Turn around. Leave the man a little dignity._

But that thought was utterly incongruous with the sight before her - the sensuous sounds and motions of a man who was completely lost in his own pleasure. Dignity? There was nothing humiliating about this, nothing awkward or embarrassing in the way he threw his head back and came with a wordless cry of satisfaction. It... _he_ was...

He was beautiful.

Strangely enough, however, the Severus who emerged from the shower only a few minutes later was completely composed, his features fixed in that same mask of harsh stoicism she'd begun to recognize as his normal disposition. The brief respite of pleasurable release seemed to have had no effect on him - no softening in his expression, no sense of relaxation to be found in the body that appeared to be in a constant state of tense awareness. Even as Severus stalked to his bedroom and pulled a nightshirt over his head, his every motion was almost guarded, as if he expected to be attacked at any moment.

Why? What could have possibly happened throughout the years since they'd last seen each other to make him so... so...

But was it really that different? She'd never known Severus _not_ to show a great deal of caution in his demeanor; it was just a bit of a stretch to reconcile the boy who'd hidden behind a curtain of hair, slouching in on himself in a desperate attempt to escape notice, with the man who faced the world with his shoulders straight and his head held high, as if almost daring even the most deadly of enemies to oppose him.

Lily was caught up in pondering those differences when a strange thing happened - she heard the creaking of a bed frame and a quietly muttered "Nox", followed by silence. That in itself wasn't unusual, of course; what surprised her was the sudden curse that came from the bedroom a few minutes later, followed by the padding of bare feet across the floor as Severus emerged into the study again, heading straight for the table where she sat watching with more than a little apprehension. He picked up the vial, taking a moment to inspect her with one massive black eye, before removing the stopper and setting her back down again.

It wasn't freedom - the glass walls were still too slick and high for her to scale. But it was a conscious decision on his part not to allow even such a seemingly inconsequential creature to suffer the pain of a slow suffocation... and the realization of that somehow endeared him to her at a level she hadn't known even existed.

Attracted to him... yes, she supposed she was on some level. Not that there was anything to be done about it.

* * *

The next day, Lily was carried to what must have been Severus' private laboratory, a small but impressive room covered on all sides by towering shelves that were filled with hundreds upon hundreds of ingredients contained in mutually labeled jars. Resigned to her fate after a long, sleepless night, it was impossible for her to imagine any possible escape from a place where no other life seemed to exist... not until she was given a reprieve with the tinkling of a distant bell, followed by a muttered curse as her captor set her down and stormed away.

Severus slammed the door hard when he left the room - so hard, in fact, that the vial teetered precariously before falling to the floor and shattering all around her.

Lily didn't hesitate. She fled from the laboratory into what appeared to be an office, then out into the classroom where she'd sat with Harry the day before, only to stop abruptly when she came face to face with an impossibly large toad who stared back at her with baleful eyes. It was too late to prevent what was about to happen, to somehow maneuver out of the way of that long, seeking tongue; a single flick, and she was devoured whole.

What she at first assumed to be her death quickly turned out to be something else entirely. Darkness and then a shift, not painful, only disorienting for the first few seconds. And when she opened her eyes again, it was with the realization that there was yet another facet to her abilities that she'd never even considered before - without a body of her own, mortality was not quite the black and white issue she'd expected it to be.

That wasn't to say she had any intention of testing her limits just yet; on the contrary, she spent the remainder of Harry's first year safely ensconced in Gryffindor Tower, fussed over by a boy named Neville who bore no resemblance to his parents, yet was no less endearing for that lack of similarity. But it was good to know that she wasn't quite as vulnerable as she'd assumed - even if she never regained the humanity she desperately longed for, there was a great deal of comfort in realizing she had a good chance of seeing her son grow up after all, and that she might even find the ability to help him along the way.

* * *

**Author's Note:** _Guys, I must apologize again for the delay with this update. I've been having computer issues lately, and until I can get a replacement, is a bit of a challenge to keep up with everything. That said, I'll do my best to get the next update out a little sooner._

_From this point on, I'll be glossing over most of what happened in the first couple of books. Major plot progression won't be happening until the third one, so I'm eager to get there as soon as possible. :)_

_Thank you so much for reading, and please leave me a review if you have the time. Take care._


	12. The Parallels

**The Parallels**

There was nothing Severus despised more than misplaced optimism.

He hated it so much, in fact, that his failure to banish it from his life years before Harry Potter had even come to Hogwarts struck him as downright absurd. If nothing else, any emotion within him that was even remotely hopeful should have been killed stone dead upon the realization that the boy was the living, breathing embodiment of James Potter himself, his worst nightmare resurrected right before his eyes.

Yes, he should've known to expect the worst by now… so why in the hell had he spent half the summer entertaining the notion that perhaps Potter hadn't been been _quite _as obnoxious as he remembered? And what temporary insanity had led him to the conclusion that the next bumbling fool Dumbledore hired for the Defense against the Dark Arts position would _have_ to be an improvement over the insufferable Professor Quirrell?

It was no surprise to learn he'd been wrong in both cases, of course; just a few hours back at Hogwarts and he was already itching to strangle them both. Truly, imagining that Potter in particular could be even remotely tolerable was a level of self-inflicted brainwashing that would put the _Imperius_ to shame.

"Severus, you idiot," he muttered darkly, easing himself into the armchair and aiming a halfhearted _Incendio_ at the cold iron grate. The fire sprang to life as he shivered and pulled his robes more tightly around his body, waiting none too patiently for the heat from the flames to reach him. Was it his imagination, or did the chill of winter creep into the castle walls just a little earlier each year?

Well, there was another remedy for that, warmth and comfort to be found in the decanter of rich amber liquid sitting on the table beside him. Severus rarely drank these days, but after the night he'd had…

Fuck it.

He filled the glass halfway, hesitated, and then filled it to the brim, tossing it back in one long swallow. The first drink was immediately followed by a second, and then a third that he sipped more slowly. Only then did he feel capable of reviewing the events of the evening without barging through the castle throwing curses in every direction.

Potter was an arrogant fool. He'd known that much already, of course, but all the boy's past shenanigans seemed positively benign compared with the ridiculous stunt involving a flying car and an incomprehensible amount of stupidity. Part of him had been thrilled; surely even Dumbledore couldn't turn a blind eye to something so wantonly reckless. The threat of expulsion had been sweet on his tongue indeed, for even though Potter's unique circumstances might protect him, Weasley enjoyed no such privilege.

Oh yes, he'd relished the fear in their eyes, then savored thoughts of the separation to come as he'd gone to fetch Minerva. Not even noticing the rather alarmed expressions on the students' faces as he passed them with an uncharacteristically wide smile on his own, he'd marched straight up to the head of Gryffindor house and shoved the paper right under her nose.

Damn it all to hell, he should've known better.

Severus poured himself another drink, raising the glass to his lips as he stared moodily into the fire. In the end, nothing changed. To hold even the slightest hope that one of those arrogant Gryffindor shits would be suitably punished for their crimes was as pointless as trying to pluck the moon from the sky. No, whether he was a terrified student or a respected professor, it seemed there was nothing for him to do but watch helplessly as one stupid, highly dangerous act after another was swept under the rug with nothing more than a few stern words and a lousy detention. It didn't matter if the situation involved covering for a werewolf who could've easily slaughtered dozens of students, or excusing a pair of idiots who'd risked the exposure of their entire world without a second thought. Experience had proven there was nothing a Gryffindor couldn't get away with as long as Dumbledore was calling the shots.

Not for the first time, Severus found himself wondering what would've happened if Lupin had killed him after all, leaving only a mangled corpse for James Potter to present to the headmaster. Would it have made any difference? He had no doubt that Dumbledore would've felt genuine sorrow at his loss; the man wasn't completely heartless, after all. But would it have been enough for him to have expelled his precious Marauders? Or would he have provided a neat cover that allowed the boys to remain at the school without any further penalty?

He pushed the thought away, realizing all over again that he didn't want to know the answer.

The bottle was nearly empty by the time he got around to addressing his other source of frustration. _Fucking Lockhart._

Severus had always taken pride in neatly avoiding anything having to do with the numerous "fad" Wizards who became popular over the years, crediting himself with the intelligence to know the difference between the genuinely noteworthy and those who tried just a little too hard to appear so. The grinning fool who'd followed him to his laboratory without invitation earlier that evening was very much the latter – he'd known that even before he'd seen the man melt down two cauldrons in an attempt to brew something as simple as a light sleeping draught.

It was disturbing to realize that a Wizard actually existed who could make Longbottom look like a competent brewer… downright excruciating to accept the fact that he'd be obligated to treat the fool as a colleague and an equal throughout the year.

"It's just as I've said a hundred times," Severus winced as he remembered the way Lockhart had clapped him on back as if they were old chums. "Even the most talented Wizard can't hope to accomplish much if he's using faulty equipment. You get yourself some better cauldrons, Severus, and we'll do this again sometime. I'll teach you the special remedy I invented to treat…"

Severus was either too tired or too drunk to remember the rest… not like he gave a fuck in any case. All he could do was curse himself for agreeing to be civil to the man, then curse Dumbledore for extracting that unfortunate promise in the first place as he rose rather unsteadily to his feet and began to undress for bed.

* * *

Lily slipped through the halls like a shadow, enjoying the peaceful silence of the slumbering castle. Passing a pair of 7th years locked in an embrace behind a particularly large statue, she gave them a long, measuring look and then continued on her way. Masquerading as Filch's beloved pet might have its downsides, but the number of students given detention for being out of bed after curfew had dropped dramatically this year. That alone seemed reason enough to tolerate the caretaker's sometimes overbearing affections.

Of course, she really wanted to be in Gryffindor Tower with her son, inhabiting the toad who'd become surprisingly comfortable during the previous year. It wasn't so simple this time around though, something she'd discovered on their first night back when she'd tried to transfer from a very ruffled Hedwig to the Weasley boy's rat. She didn't like the creature – it was tremendously ugly and carried a very strange smell. But it was the simplest way to make sure she'd be carried to the boy's dormitory, and so she'd resolved to endure it until she was brought close enough to switch back to Trevor.

What she _hadn't_ expected was to meet resistance when trying to make a switch that had become as natural to her as breathing. An unseen presence had pushed back against her almost violently, the breadth and size of it somehow enormous compared with the cowering rodent it appeared to be. Lily was left feeling bewildered, and truth be told, more than a little frightened. None of the animals she'd ever inhabited had shown even the slightest hint of being aware of her presence; they'd certainly never reacted the way Scabbers had.

She'd eventually made it to her destination in the guise of a common housefly, narrowly managing to switch to Trevor before being swallowed whole. Not that that would have caused her any harm, of course, but it was an unpleasant sensation she'd just as soon avoid whenever she could help it. All had seemed well for the next couple days… until the rat had started sniffing around whenever she was in close proximity. Why? They'd coexisted quite peacefully the year before, mostly by ignoring each other. But now…

Scabbers, or whomever was pretending to be the rat, obviously knew something wasn't right. She'd given herself away when she'd tried to transfer herself to him, and now he recognized her presence, even in another form. But by what, exactly? Sight? Smell? Or was it just the subtle feeling that _something_ was different about her, a peculiar sensation she'd overlooked in the past where he was concerned as well?

Was it someone like her then, the essence of a human soul trapped in animal form? If so, who was it and how had they come to find themselves in such a predicament? And why did they seem equal parts hostile and terrified whenever she was near?

Cautiously, she'd approached the mangy rodent late one night, putting all her energy into projecting soothing thoughts his way. _Please, I mean you no harm. Who are you? Are you human?_

What happened after that had resulted in a hysterical Neville Longbottom racing to the hospital wing with a profusely bleeding toad cradled in his chubby little hands. Madame Pomfrey had been able to repair the scratches easily enough, but one thing had been clear – inhabiting poor Trevor for any longer would be nothing short of a death sentence under current circumstances. Lily couldn't be responsible for that; bemoaning the fact that the other boys all owned owls who never came near the dormitories, she'd elected to transfer to an animal who both had free reign of the castle and was large enough to easily defeat Scabbers in a fight if it came to it.

But what to do after switching to Mrs. Norris? She wasn't comfortable with the idea of killing the rat, particularly since she didn't know exactly what the presence inside of him actually _was_. And if it were someone like her, it wouldn't do any good anyway – he'd just transfer to a different body.

Lily was so tired of her limited abilities, fed up with always having new reasons to worry about her son without being able to do anything about them. Gathering information was all she could do and even that was useless; after all, who was there to pass along the information to once she had it?

She sought it out anyway for lack of anything better to do, prowling up and down the halls and poking her head in where it wasn't wanted – which was everywhere, with the exception of Filch's office.

That was how only a few nights later, she came upon the biggest and most dangerous secret to be found in Hogwarts. And it would be another eight months before she awoke to the realization that she'd never known until that moment what it meant to be _truly_ helpless.

* * *

Halloween.

It wasn't enough that it was Severus' least favorite day of the year. Oh no, the universe wasn't content to allow him to slip off to his quarters so he might be haunted by the ghosts of his past in peace. Whether a mountain troll or a petrified cat, something just _had_ to come along to fuck with his already fragile grasp on sanity. And naturally, that _something_ had to involve Potter and his insufferable little friends.

He didn't believe for a second that the trio of bewildered Gryffindors were responsible for the attack on the cat, of course. None of them except perhaps Granger were even remotely capable of that level of advanced magic, and he'd never detected any trace of cruelty in the girl. She might be exceedingly annoying with her relentless questions, and he'd often wondered if mental illness ran in her family due to her choice of friends, but the type to harm a defenseless animal? Certainly not.

Still, they were up to _something_. Potter in particular seemed incapable of refraining from sticking his nose where it didn't belong, and Severus would happily seize on any opportunity to bring this fact to the headmaster's attention. Part of it was purely for his own gratification – the slightest excuse to wipe that smug, self-satisfied expression off the boy's face was well worth the effort. But on a more practical level, it would certainly make his own job significantly easier if certain privileges were restricted. It wasn't only spite that led him to suggest suspension from the Quidditch team – if the previous year had proven anything, it was that extracurricular activities set the boy up as a prime target for those who wished to do him harm.

As usual, Dumbledore refused to even take the idea under consideration when he brought it up again later, blathering on and on about the importance of a "normal" childhood and the necessity of learning from one's own mistakes. He couldn't remember exactly what was said after that, having chosen that moment to stop giving a rat's ass about anything except helping himself to the last chocolate biscuit on the tea tray. It was the second Halloween in a row that Harry Potter had been responsible for him missing his supper.

"I understand how you feel, Severus, but you must trust my judgment on this. Young Harry has much to discover about himself and the world around him before he'll be ready to face…"

"And if he gets himself killed in the process?" Severus retorted sourly. He wasn't in the habit of interrupting the headmaster, but on this night of all nights, he wasn't in the mood to be placated.

"He's stronger than you think, capable of far more than we even know just yet. We must have faith in…"

"In a 12-year-old boy?"

"Yes," Dumbledore said simply.

"Put our faith in a 12-year-old boy who has already proven himself to be lazy, arrogant, reckless to the point of stupidity…"

"Yes, Severus. That is what we must do."

"Then I guess we're all fucked."

_"Severus!"_

"Forgive me, Headmaster." He rose gracefully to his feet and bowed his head respectfully, not truly contrite but simply too weary to debate the issue any longer. "It has been a trying night."

The old man gave him long, searching look before nodding as if he'd come to some satisfying conclusion. "Indeed it has. Get some sleep, Severus. I have a feeling we're all going to need it in the weeks to come."

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Dumbledore was right. But then again, so was Severus.

Two weeks later, the heated rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor quickly became a far more sinister game as a rogue Bludger set its sights on Potter with the obvious intention of knocking him straight out of the sky. The Potions master was extremely disgruntled in the aftermath, not the least of his reasons being that he was forced to admit (if only to himself) that the boy's more than adequate flying abilities had probably saved his life. A broken arm was the worst of it, but still…

Still, it should have never happened in the first place, and as usual, there wasn't a single person in the entire bloody castle who'd listen to him where anything involving Harry Potter was concerned. Each of them would assume some ulterior motive – jealousy, spite, an attempt to advance his own House. Not that those things weren't a factor, of course, but they came in at a distant second to his primary motivation, the central reason for his growing bitterness.

He wanted to trust Dumbledore. In many ways, he did… far more than he trusted anyone else, at least. And he'd been assured on more than one occasion that that trust ran both ways.

So why had he been tasked to protect the boy, and yet refused the ability to do so properly? It was _his_ responsibility to ensure that Potter came to no harm, and yet any suggestion he offered that might contribute to that protection was completely disregarded, often accompanied by some infuriatingly cryptic remark that inevitably left him wondering if Dumbledore's grand strategy would turn out to be nothing more than throwing the boy to the wolves and hoping for the best. After all, it _would_ be a very Gryffindor thing to do.

It was maddening, perhaps even worse than dealing with Potter himself. No planning, no well thought out strategies to ensure maximum protection at all times. No careful tutelage in the defensive tactics that would surely be needed if it came to open conflict. Oh no, just stick him with a frothing idiot like Lockhart as the only means of learning how to protect himself, then allow him to roam around as he pleased with an unseen menace on the loose. Brilliant approach, truly.

The rest of the year was an exercise in similar frustrations, though there was some small consolation in the formation of the Dueling Club. It had been far too long since he'd been given the opportunity to knock someone flat on their ass, and he couldn't think of a more worthy candidate than Lockhart. Unfortunately, the moment had been ruined by the man's insufferable ego; if he hadn't sworn up and down to Dumbledore that he'd behave, he'd have had a set of blindingly white teeth as a souvenir. But no… he'd just have to make the most out of that dazed, almost fearful expression he'd glimpsed just before Lockhart had recovered what little wits he possessed and climbed to his feet.

After that, the mysteries piled up like so many broken dreams, each seeming more impossible to reconcile than the last. Potter was a Parselmouth; that alone was worth more than a few sleepless nights. Students were being petrified left and right, sometimes even in broad daylight, without a shred of evidence to point to any logical source. Not Potter… it would take a hell of a lot more than some admittedly unusual talent to lead Severus to the conclusion that the boy had anything to do with the Chamber of Secrets or any of this foolish business about Slytherin's heir. But who then? Draco? No… young Malfoy might have the ego to proclaim himself as such, and he'd certainly been raised with a deep disdain for Muggle-borns. But he possessed neither the skill or the single-minded viciousness to pull off something like this. Not yet… not _ever_ if Severus had anything to say about it.

Again and again, his mind kept returning to the same inevitable conclusion: _The Dark Lord is behind this._

Yes, the signs could not be ignored, however reticent Dumbledore might be whenever he voiced this concern. All he could do was wait, mitigate the damage wherever possible, and hope that unlike last year, he'd actually be around to fulfill his promise to protect the boy when the truth was finally revealed.

Of course, he wasn't; another peculiar scheme on the headmaster's part, another narrow escape for Potter, and it was all over.

He should have known by now that it was pointless to hope for a particular outcome. Well, lesson learned. The days were growing darker, and he'd be damned if he was going to sit by any longer, passively waiting for the next dire threat to reveal itself. He would be on Potter like the boy's own shadow from this moment on… hating every minute of it, no doubt, but he would _be there_. And the next time, death or survival wouldn't depend on a stroke of luck and a few well-placed magical artifacts. No, Severus himself would provide that buffer, and Merlin help anyone who dared to stand in his way.

With that thought in mind, Severus decided that a trip to Little Whinging over the summer was long overdue.

* * *

**Author's note**: _I am so sorry you guys had to wait so long for this chapter. I have a new computer now, so updates should be a lot easier from here on out. _

_Getting to the major plot progression now, deviating from canon just a bit with an impromptu summer holiday to the Dursley residence. What is Severus planning, and what comes next for Lily? We know now that she might be able to communicate with Animagi on some level, though Peter hasn't exactly proven a willing subject where that's concerned. What does it mean now though, with Sirius coming back into the picture? I guess we'll have to wait and see!_

_I hope you're still with me. This story is very challenging to write, but I'm loving every minute of it and can't wait to reveal everything I have in store. :)_


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